I also am getting a new FB page, KMS Writes, going, through someone who knows how to do this, and this is my new banner. Which she came up with and I really like.
So here are the new e-book links for my mainstream books. The gay erotica I'll deal with, tomorrow.
A Place of Safety-vol 2-New World For Old
This book, as depraved as it is, gives me a respite from the chaos building in this country. Felon47 called out 2000 of the national guard to take over LA, bypassing Governor Newsom, even though it was unnecessary. Then Pretty Pete of the racist tatts, who heads defense, called in 500 marines from Camp Pendelton. So Felon47, not to be outdone, called in 2000 more national guard.
What's insane is, those two assholes aren't even providing supplies to the national guardsmen. No funding for food or shelter. They're sleeping on floors. It's completely unacceptable.
All this to take over a city that is resisting the Gestapo tactics of ICE. This is a deliberate escalation of violence meant to instill fear and uncertainty in the US population, and it's cheered on by the MAGAt Class. I don't see how it cannot lead to death and destruction.
Democrats are talking a lot about how wrong it is, and Newsom's filed a lawsuit against TACO to stop him, but that's been it in the way of political pushback. There is no more GOP, it's all MAGAt, so nothing to be expected from that group of cowards and whores.
All I can do is post about it, attend a demonstration on the 14th against this, hope that doesn't go wild, and focus on a book that not only talks casually about killing men for food but also rips into the government for its cruelty, corruption and collusion. There's violent non-con m/m sex in this, but also anger at how fucked up our system of justice is.
Which there is in all my gay books. Nothing new about that.
I like this illustration by Moebius, who did some elegant work for Heavy Metal Magazine, back in the 70s and 80s. Sort of has the feel of Dyarvos' travels.
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It's funny. I called it the alien for lack of a better name...till we settled on calling it Dyarvos. Which I think sort of compares to U N Owen in its manner of communication.
Meaning, if you haven't figured it out by now, it was an ET, not some being from Satan's domain. Though it never did tell me where it’s from. Hell, it never actually told me anything. The way we communicated was, one of its whips would circle my head and tingle against my right temple, and then I knew whatever Dyarvos did, almost like I was remembering it as it remembered it.
While it had been on earth. More than that was blocked from my brain. The only other thing I knew was, it was neither male nor female; they didn't have that designation in their world.
It had developed some kind of trouble, I'm still not clear what. Earth was seen by its kind as sort of a pit-stop to go to if you needed food or fuel, both of which humans could provide. Like a 7/11. The problem was, it had crash-landed into the cave under the motel before it could send out an SOS for help, and it needed sustenance to begin rebuilding itself.
It had been lucky and caught a couple of hikers who were following the Manasseret Trail up into the hills. A trail that wasn't really popular because it was just rocks and desert. Not even pretty vistas as you went higher.
Those two were male, in their twenties, both indigenous. One with longish black hair, piercing eyes, golden skin and a fine physique. The other was more basic but still attractive, his hair longer, his face not as finely etched, and his body more average. He also had more hair on his chest, arms and legs than his compatriot.
They had camped on the hill above the cave, overlooking the old motel. No tent. Sleeping under the stars, fully clothed. Backpacks as pillows and no blanket. Really roughing it like real guys do.
Dyarvos had slipped up and wrapped its tentacles around them both. The pretty one had managed to get a knife out and cut a tentacle off, but the whips took full control of him.
Both guys had been carried down to the entrance, but were struggling so hard they almost got free before they were in the ship. At first I thought Dyarvos hadn't worked out how to fully control them, yet, but then I realized it had simply been weakened by the wreck.
This flummoxes the legal system because they can't figure out how Dirc could do that. Instead, they decide to just ignore anything that doesn't fit with their narrative that he's a queer serial killer.
Dirc tells them about Dyarvos and is declared incompetent for trial...for now. Part Two picks up after he's been found guilty of multiple murders and sentenced to death. But he knows Dyarvos is returning with a business proposition so he's not too worried.
There's a total of 310 pages in this book. Works out to around 102,000 words. That's a bit long for a book of erotica; I may want to split it up. I'll think about that.
This may all be moot. I might not be able to publish it. It's far more sexually violent than any other book I've written, and a couple of them are not available through Amazon and Barns & Noble due to that. Even my heterosexual one, Carli's Kills has had issues.
The MAGAt Class is in the process of taking the country over, and Democrats are doing little more than protesting. Which Felon47 is calling rioting and all that bullshit. His coup on January 6th didn't succeed, but this one might.
Because LA had lots of protests, so he now has his excuse to call out the National guard, bypassing Gavin Newsom, and use them against demonstrators who were cursing the gestapo goons of ICE.
Someone's going to get killed in this deliberate chaos, but it won't be the fascists. They have military hardware and protection. All we have is our voices and ineffective leaders.
The Battle for Bogside was pretty chaotic, at the beginning. Residents just wanted to keep the Constabulary out of the area, and were doing it with rocks and petrol bombs. It wasn't till people like Bernadette Devlin came in and started organizing things that they proved to the Protestants they would not be taken down. Westminster had to send in the British Army to separate the sides.
Catholics won, for the moment, but then came thirty years of death and destruction. We may be aiming for that, here.
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I was referring to it as the alien for lack of a better name. It never told me who or what it is, or where it’s from...though we did settle on calling it Dyarvos. Which I think sort of compares to Unknown in its manner of communication.
Meaning, if you haven't figured it out by now...it was an ET, not some being from hell.
Oh, and it wasn't possible for me to talk to it, nor it to me. The way we communicated was, one of its whips would circle my head and tingle against my right temple, and then I knew everything Dyarvos did. Almost like I was remembering it as it remembered it. While it had been on earth. More than that was blocked.
The only other thing I knew was, it was neither male nor female; they didn't have that designation in their world. So it wasn't interested in sex, except as a way of prepping its meal.
It had developed some kind of trouble, I'm still not clear what, and had crash-landed into the cave under the motel. Earth was seen by its kind as sort of a pit-stop to go to if you needed sustenance or fuel, both of which humans could provide.
The problem was, it hadn’t had the chance to grab anybody before it went down, and there were very few humans around in is area. It had been lucky and caught a couple of hikers who were following the Manasset Trail up into the hills. A trail that wasn't really popular because it was just rocks and desert. But that was nearly a year ago...and it had been hungry when it grabbed me and my pack.
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Dirc continues telling about how Dyarvos managed to survive and wasn't happy about the meals Dirc's friends made. It wanted to turn one of them into a familiar to provide it with more men but that wasn't working, either...until it happened to think about bringing Dead Dirc back to life. That made all the difference and turned him into an amoral monster.
I slept till near noon, yesterday, and ten-thirty, today. Pulled together the last of the pricing for one job, and have yet to hear back about the other. And worked on Hunger...which might become Deadly Hunger or Murder for Hunger or something silly like that. The Hungry Hunters? I'm still working on it and am up to chapter four, and it's far more vicious, now.
And irreverent. Dirc makes flippant comments about his victims. For example, he's murdered by a cop named Molinaro, who becomes the first man he helps the alien kill.
His description of it is raw and detailed...and very self-centered in how it makes him feel good. Then once he's done and the man has been fed to the space craft for sustenance, he snarks, The son-of-a-bitch shouldn't have killed me.
Even as he acknowledges his own death was really unintentional. Molinaro was freaking out at seeing the alien and his gun went off and hit Dirc in the back. But he was being a dick before that, and had 88 tattooed on his left bicep. So he deserved it. (88 is a nod to HH, as in heil Hitler.)
I need a name for the alien. I don't like just calling it the creature or beast. And a title that really grabs the feeling of the book. I'd say it's black humor but don't know if I can pull that off. Maybe. Depends on how hard I push it.
But this has my attention, now. We'll see how far I go with it.
BTW, that picture is of Garrett Nolan, not me...but he does offer a nice idea of what Dirc looks like.
Spent most of the day working up costing for two rush jobs. Both have deadlines of getting done within the next month, and both are fair-size libraries. I'm trying to work around a couple of doctor appointments I have in the second half of June as well as the Fourth of July, but it's going to be tight.
Dirc, the MC, is killed by a cop but gets brought back to life by an extraterrestrial trying to feed and heal its space craft. It's experimenting on how best to do that...and happens to conclude Dirc is the perfect vessel to bring it what is needed.
Healthy men. Well-marinated by him raping them. It's like a seasoning, which the space craft likes. This gives the ET an idea. Once the craft is healed, it opens a restaurant in space, an otherworldly truck stop, and makes a deal with Dirc to bring it more men to go on the menu.
Eventually he finds out he's not the only supplier, but he does bring the highest quality guys...
I'm going to rewrite it. Smooth over the story. Tighten up the timing. See if I can put in some more irreverent humor. Right now, it's kind of a mess...but does wind up getting to an HEA point, which I'm keeping. I also want to polish up the inconsistencies and removing some repetitions. Then I'm going to publish it as a whole book under a new title. Maybe Hunger...though that's kind of lame. So are Feeding the Beast and The Beast Dines Out.
Any suggestions would be welcome.
I kept telling myself to channel my anger into what happens with Simon, and I did manage to get a few pages done. Adding in the police getting a warrant to search Simon's apartment based on a complaint about a man who only vaguely resembles him. Seeking child sexual assault materials.
It happens after Simon is killed but before his body is discovered, which is not supposed to be found. But it is due to him having an AirTag in his backpack and his new attorney's phone in a pocket. They lead ReShawn, his attorney, to his grave.
ReShawn blames himself, thinking he should have taken Simon straight home. At least kept him at his house. And it's becoming clear the local media has been fed the story about the pedophilia investigation and is running with it. Like they are in the smearing of Joss' life. Making his murder his own fault.
It was at this point everything became overwhelming and I had to stop. I was close to losing it...or something. I don't know what. I just didn't....couldn't handle it. Which makes me wonder if I'd be able to handle the coming culture war between the MAGAt Class and the rest of us.
I don't know. I just know...have to acknowledge those people do not care who they hurt or how. And I'm afraid I would feel the same way about them. And if that happened, I feel I'd become as sub-human as them.
I think that would kill me.
I don't understand this. Even back in the 70s and 80s, with the sodomy laws in force, San Antonio's gay community was strong and vibrant. Very Latino based, but the bars were open to everyone, and there were also a couple that mixed gay and straight. Like the Bonham Exchange.
Same for Austin, just 70 miles northeast of San Antonio. When you got tired of the vatos, you could scout out the frat boys, 90% of whom were as WASP as they come. Pun intended.
I had very Catholic tastes, back then, which probably stemmed from me being an Air Force brat and growing up around all kinds of kids. I'd hook up with Latinos, Jews, blacks, anglos, and once with a guy who I think was Japanese...if I liked you, I was up for it.
But that is no more. Thanks to that Felon in the White House and the MAGAts in his coven, it has become open season on us...on anyone not white, Anglo-Saxon and Protestant. Don't you dare think you're safe if you're a white Catholic; too many Protestants still see the Catholic Church as the Whore of Babylon.
I know this because when my mother lived with me in LA, she would watch a Presbyterian minister named John Hagee with his sermons on cable, Sunday mornings. I came home one day to see him doing a presentation that explained why the Church of Rome was the seat of evil.
I loved my mother, and she could watch anything she wanted without complaint from me. I'd just go to a laundromat to do my laundry so I wouldn't hear that vile man's shit. He was our version of Northern Ireland's Ian Paisley. Both of them diseased, hateful monsters who used fear and prejudice to build their power and wealth.
Ian Paisley helped prolong the Troubles in Northern Ireland. Those like John Hagee have given the haters ground to believe their evil actions are just. And it always winds up in murder.
Always.
Just for fun, I made crepes for brunch. Out of Bisquick. I actually have a recipe. And I have Nutella and bananas, so I made 6 of them wrapped around those little beasties, and they turned out very nicely. Not as nice as the ones I'd gotten at the Farmer's Market, in LA, or a kiosk in London, by the Thames, but still damn good. They weren't pretty, so no pictures...but belly very happy.
I wrote another 1700 words on PvSH, today, and am having fun fucking around with the straight male psyche. Brian Walstead arranges a secret meeting with Frank Paley about the story Simon wrote and they commiserate over ribs and beer, and without saying it come to the decision Simon must be killed. Then Brian tells Judge Denton about the story and they come up with a strategy to minimize it, as if nothing else has been decided.
Something else came up in Brian's talk with Denton that I'm not crazy about so will probably cut. I had once thought of having Denton and his wife be Brian's godparents, but that seems a bit off. Still considering it...but now it's like an unnecessary distraction.
Anyway, what this has done is cut away about 20% of the outline I'd worked up and dumped having the prosecution present falsified evidence to claim Simon had been arrested before. It was coming across as awkward, and now is no longer necessary. So bye-bye.
Since I have no travel plans, now, I may get a first draft of this book done this month.
