Roundabout return

I took that different route home and am glad I did.  It's a lovely drive, for the most part -- lots of twists and turns past shallow rivers of quick rapids between short mountains topped by leafless trees along a divided highway that cuts through the granite of some of those hills, revealing some elegant, jagged formations at 45 degree angles, where occasional flat streams of water whisper out from them and cascade down to the dirt -- and it gave me some ideas for Daniel's character.

Like when I got off the 87 to head for the 17 North -- it looks like you're must missing having to pay a toll...but no; it's $1.25 to get off the road.  All vehicles.  No exceptions.  And Daniel huffed at it, so I put in how he hates to pay tolls, especially since he's driving a rented vehicle.

I also found a better explanation for Daniel to go to this cabin instead of just stay in NYC, himself; and ways to make Mrs. Serff (the caretaker's wife) into more of a character.  I'm at the point in the story, right now, where another character comes in and starts messing with Daniel.  And soon chaos begins.

This was a tiring weekend -- it's 400 miles each way to NYC -- but it's done.  I only got a bit of writing accomplished -- more rewriting was handled, actually -- but the ideas that I've had are working neatly.  And since I don't work Thanksgiving Day, I'll use that time to catch up on my word count.

Now I'm beat.  Time for bed.

Two beers and I'm a chatterbox

I drove down to NYC to have Dinner With A Friend (who was very cute) and discuss my writing..and I can only hope I made sense.  We met at the Heartland Brewery in the Empire State Building and I did most of the talking.  Seriously, I got to chattering so much, I could easily have come across as caught in dementia.  More on this later.  Right now, I'm on LD and more ideas have been offered for it.

I'm finally beginning to think I might make it to 50K in wordage.  Daniel and Ace floated new possibilities for additions to the story, and another serendipitous moment surfaced.  When I worked out the Google Map directions to my hotel in Secaucus (which turned out to be wrong once I got here and got so lost, I had to get off the freeway and use surface streets to find my way), I asked it to print out directions home.  What came up was a different route, right through the area where I'd set the Lyons' Den, so I'm driving home that way, just to see what it's like.  I may find out it's wrong and I need to relocate, so better to work it now than later.  But what was fun is how it just popped up all on its own.  So...do I thank Daniel, Ace or even Van for that one?  (Names make sense in the context of the story.)

You know, a lot of the drive between Buffalo and NYC is beautiful.  In Pennsylvania you pass through a huge nature preserve of some kind, with the freeway cut into shale formations that are mesmerizingly beautiful.  I also saw why the Delaware Water Gap is so fantastic -- I mean it's nice going north (I drove the route when traveling back from a job in NYC, after my encounter with the Tea Party Lady in Maryland), but going south is spectacular.  And New Jersey is just gorgeous.  Photos of the Gap will follow.

So...my little Honda's been Manhattanized.  I wonder if it's okay?

Words, words, words

Tonight came the titles of all 6 of Daniel's mystery novels --

"The Red Knife in a Blue Jello"
"The Dr. Pepper Tryst and Tristan"
"The High-heeled Moccasins"
"The Cadillac Criminal Mind"
"The Tangerine 42D Cup Madame"
"The Dirty Baker's Dozen, Plus 2"

And an odd little bit of memory floated up for Daniel, showing how Ace appeared in his life.  I may need to rework that moment, just to make it work right, but it's interesting in and of itself and takes this story out of the realm of farce and into dramatic comedy.  I think.  Won't know till I'm done, now.

Saturday I'm gone and won't be back till Sunday evening, if all goes well.  More on that another time.  It's late and I'm tired from slaving over a hot computer all day, inputting crap that would make the perkiest person plop down from tedium.

But at least I'm up to over 33000 words, total.  Yeah, big yawn.

Ace is the base

Wasn't there a band named that in the 80's?  Had a couple of hits.  Foreign, right?  I don't remember except I did see a video of theirs prepping the stage for a concert and then the second half being the concert (or combination of concerts) as they sang.

I'm headed to San Antonio for Christmas...on Christmas Eve.  This should be fun.  If the weather permits.  And I can get myself manhandled by a cute screener.  There's one at Buffalo's airport...maybe if I make a reservation...

Of course, it's fun to make light of the encroaching police state tactics being employed all around us -- not just in airports.  Cops use tasers instead of words and wits to take people down, sometimes killing them.  Torture is now an acceptable part of any police interrogation, not just those being done by the CIA and FBI and Army "Intelligence."  Prosecutors use every legal method they can to keep convicts from being proven innocent, especially if they actually are. Corporations control what you read, see, think and hear and how you vote.   And it's all fine with the right wing because they're WASPs and in control and such things will NEVER be used against them or theirs.  Ah, life in America in the 21st Century.

I'm feeling Ace's cynicism, right now.  It filters through me in ways I've yet to understand or even care about.  I hope to have it all out of my system once the story is in its first real draft.  I'm at page 41 of the reconstruct and am up to 31,500 words...so we'll see how it goes.  But right now, all I can say is I'm enjoying the ride.  Ace is such a snot, at times, and the fact that he is and is part of Daniel mitigates the main character's initial wimpiness and gives him time to begin to build into a true leading man.

I don't know if this story counts as experimental...or even if I'm reading too much into it all...but I don't care.  I got hot tea and condescension on my side, so I'm feeling quite British, at the moment.

Writin', writin', writin'...

Gotta keep on writin',
Keep them stories writin',
Write on.............."

And as such, I don't feel like fiddling with thoughts on the blog.  Instead, here's a bit more of "The Lyons' Den".
---

So I piped down and got to pondering the possibilities, peculiarities and just plain persnickitiness of the project at hand (told you I liked to alliterate). I’d decided to wear the latest in cool-detective trench coats over your basic casual travel attire and felt really cool, calm and collected -- especially since Carmen didn’t even join us on the trip. She said she’d be around if we needed her, but I kinda think she was irritated at how she’d been made over and just wanted to be the bitch someplace else, for a while. Which made me wonder if she was off sweet-talkin’ some other writer to put her in HIS book. Meaning, yes -- we characters can be very fickle, and if we feel we’re being dissed, then we’ll just go get pissed, and so some will insist on finding a new -- uh -- damn, what’s a word for writer that rhymes with insist? I’m drawin’ a blank here. “Lyricist?” Naw, too weird.

ANYway...what made the trip truly enjoyable was, it started to snow. Nothing heavy, at first, just little flurries that got flurrier and flurrier till it looked like a serious Nor’easter. I’d wondered if Dan-o was being too anal when he asked for an SUV and four-wheel drive (the weather report said cold with scattered clouds) but now I was glad. Traffic got light and speed got slowed down once we were off the 85, with the road twisting and turning and next to no cars coming in either direction, but we finally made it to Bradleyville...and lemme tell you, it was long after they rolled up the sidewalks. Seriously, this is that kind of place the chamber of commerce calls quaint while kids that live there refer to it as “the hell I wanna get the hell away from.” And in the winter snow, for some reason I was thinking of that town in “It’s A Wonderful Life” -- all dark, snow-drifty and smothering in its Saccharine sweetness. I actually started looking around for a guy in a wheelchair named Potter...him being of that name, not the chair.
 
Somehow Dan-o...naw, better call him Daniel, from now on, and you’ll understand why as we go along...anyway, Daniel found this late-night diner and walked in to enjoy the blast of warm air and think seriously about a slice of pie and some hot tea or coffee as he waited for the caretaker to come over for him, but before he could even get his gloves off this screech of a voice hollered, “You the fool friend of Mr. Bentley’s, come up here?”
 
He jumped around to see this five-foot tall gnome dressed in a massive parka, thick gloves and a muffler atop two of the spindliest legs ever shoved into ski-pants that ever was, that then vanished into a pair of the biggest snow boots ever seen (perportional...un, proportiony...uh, generally speaking). All you could see of the person inside were two beady eyes that looked like they were about a hundred years old.
 
My guy nodded and asked, “Are you Mr. Serff?”

“Do I look like Mr. Serff?” the voice snapped. Well, yes, in that get-up, but...“He’s in Boston. I’m the Missus.”

“Uh, it's nice to meet you. I'm Daniel Bettancourt.”

I couldn’t resist adding, “Lord and master of the great and powerful Ace Shostakovich!” To which Daniel rolled his eyes, not in the snotty way Tad does but like he just plain can’t believe I said that.

The old bat just glared at him, obviously noticing his rolling of said eyes and thinking he meant her. “And who else might ya be?” she snapped. “Up here, this time of year at this time of night? All the best skiin’s to the east. C’mon, let’s get this done with.” And she headed out the door, muttering, “Little fool.”

Daniel blinked and followed her. “So...I take it Tad got hold of you and explained -- ?”

"Tad?” she snapped. “That what he goes by, now? I knew him when he was just ‘Master’ Theodore James Bentley, the third, an’ made me use every fool bit of that fool name.” Wow...looked like he’d always been a dick. “An’ yes, he did call. Right ‘round an hour ago. Asked...no, ‘told’ me to get the place ready for ya. Got pretty high-handed with it, too, like I’s his employee. Like I can't remember when his poppa was treatin’ me all right and proper. Like I'm a fool. I'd of told him where he could go, but ya were already comin’ an’ t’ain’t my way to let people die from exposure. Not ‘round my parcel of the woods, anyhow. T’ain’t polite.” (And I swear, she really DID say “t’ain’t” -- twice!)

We headed straight back out to the snow and she eyed Daniel’s rental and snorted. “Best park that here. Won’t make it where we’re goin’.”

“It’s got four-wheel -- ,” Daniel said.

“I got mine. Toss your things in the back.” Then she climbed into this four-by-four with a snowplow as its front bumper, and the damn thing would’ve looked perfect as the car-crusher at a monster truck rally. Seriously, it even had fold-out steps going up to the sideboards of it so she could reach the cab.

“Will the car be okay here?” Daniel asked, eyeing the truck with what did NOT amount to certainty.

“Prob’ly,” said the old bat as she settled in behind the wheel. “No charge at a meter over the weekend. Now let’s get goin’!”

Daniel got his satchel, laptop and a bag of groceries he’d bought at a deli by the car rental office and climbed aboard. And away we went, spitting snow the whole way down the main street. And I gotta say, if I’d thought my guy was gettin’ into something bad before, I was damn sure of it, now.

Starting to feel like it's real

"The Lyons' Den" has finally begun to take on the aura of reality, making me glad I kept going with it even as it just lay there, refusing to even so much as sigh in response to anything I was doing to it.  Hmm...that sounds a bit more symbolic than I intended.  But it does indicate the relationship an author has with his writing.  It really is almost like sex.  Or maybe some heavy-duty flirting.

Consider this scenario -- you see someone you like in a dark room, make eye contact, get closer, chat the person up and try to see if there's something more to be found there than just a moment's conversation.  And sometimes it leads to more talk over drinks...or dinner...or a roll between the sheets.  And then comes the time when you decide whether of not that rolling around could lead to something long-term.  Problem is, nine times out of ten you find you were just momentarily infatuated and it's best to get the hell out.

Of course, I don't do that...the last part...get the hell out when it's obviously best to.  I try to make it work, and try and try.  And sometimes it DOES come together.  And leads places that're surprising.  "Darian's Point" was like that.  I wrote my first (really awful) draft in college and tried to get it going but couldn't figure out the hook, so I set it aside for a decade then was talked into going back to it and wound up not only pulling together an award-winning Gothic-horror script, I also had two other parts of the story make themselves a part of my world.

Same for "Place of Safety".  I first conceived of this story as a script that exploded WAY beyond the boundaries of screenwriting and became more and more demanding, to the point I fought with it and Brendan and everything about it...but never gave up on it and now I'm slowly nearing the first full draft of the story.  And there are sections of it I am already damned proud of.

At the same time, I have another story that just will not come together in enough of a right way for me to make sense of it, no matter how hard I try.  "Delay En Route."  Parts of it are good, but I can't find the linkage to get it to work.  Tho' I've lately begun to think I should set it in 1983, back when America was ascendant, again.  (I hate saying that because Reagan's policies have borne such hideously bad fruit, but that is how the country felt, back then.)

I dunno...I guess we all want whatever we start doing to work out right.  But then...this mental and emotional process is exactly what Daniel is going through, at the moment, and Ace's little commentary is helping keep it in perspective, beautifully.  I'm up to 29,000 words and beginning to think maybe, just maybe, I will make the 50K.  Wouldn't that be a shock to the system?

Ace has control...

And he's just rockin' along.  I've added close to 2000 words since he started telling the story, but some of it's discussed later in the script so I may be cutting once I get to those areas...but still, the story's working, finally.  I even have a cute little snarky bit where Daniel refers to country music as sounding like two dogs mating and nearly getting into a fight with a drag king (female version of a queen).  Trust me, it makes sense in the context of the story.

What's nice is I can now use Ace's tough-guy attitude to pump up the characters, some.  Like Mrs. Serff, who sets Daniel up in the cabin.  She's become even more irascible and Ace's little comments about her add to her...oh...quirkiness.  I'm still not convinced I'll make it to 50K in wordage, but now I'll have a decent draft to build upon, once I'm done, no matter how long it is.

The trip to NYC was tiring but went on schedule.  I just hate getting up at 6am to make an 8am flight.  I usually aim for 10-11 am flights because I can handle those easily...and I sleep till I usually do.  I've always been a night person -- going to bed between 1 and 2 am and getting up between 9 and 10 am is my ideal setup.  Can't do that with this job...except on the weekends.

I'm starting to zone.  'Nuff said for the night.

Like lightning from a clear sky...

I found the story's voice.  While doing laundry and inputting some notes on my laptop.  And here's the opening 5 pages -- woo-hoo.

THE LYONS' DEN


To put it simply, Daniel’s life began to unravel when he made that bet. Granted, he popped up with the wager out of desperation while trying to talk Tad -- excuse me, Theodore J. Bentley, the Third (one must have one’s moniker correct, you know) -- into giving their relationship a second chance. Of course, his timing was off, as usual. Tad’s focus was on how messed up his current project for a series was (thanks to an overpriced twenty-one-year-old-Cheeto-eater said to be the hottest screenwriter in Hollywood since Orson Welles) and he had to meet with the “yea or nay” guy at HBO on Monday, so he wasn’t listening to a single solitary thing that was being said until Daniel snapped, “Okay, fine, fine, fine, Tad, I’ll get them into shape in time for the damned meeting; now can you just -- ?”

“Are you outta your fuckin’ mind, Danny?” Tad shot back. “You don’t get it -- ALL the scripts are crap, all fuckin’ eight of them, including the Bible.” (“The Bible” not being that book of Christian conflict but one that outlined the direction the characters and story would take; helps to know the lingo of the natives, in this case.) “Besides, you write books, not screenplays.”

“A story’s a story.”

“Oh, please! A script isn’t a story; it’s a framework.”

“Which is probably why they aren’t working, not if you’ve got that kind of attitude about it.”

“It’s the attitude of the business, Danny. And I gotta work in it if I want to produce enough to pay my rent and car.”

“Well, it’s stupid. They’re my characters. They’ll work things out, if you let them.”

“What is it with you and this crap about your stories? All we’re talking about is a movie adaptation; you still got the books out there, selling. It’s my ass on the line, putting money into it I don’t have and -- and hiring that twerp -- .”

“I could fix it for you, Tad. I could fix ‘em all.”

“Danny, the meeting’s Monday. At noon. Period. You can’t do this in a weekend; that’s not enough time.”

Daniel’d flat out glared at Tad, irritated he was shrugging off such a fantastic offer. “What if I did do it?” he said. “Had ‘em ready in time? What if I did? Will you spend a week in -- in -- in Bermuda with me? Just a week? See if we can work things out?”

Tad just rolled his eyes in that way that always pissed Daniel off. Not because it was so condescending or dismissive, but because he looked so damned good when he did it, the little shit.

Now at this point, one might wonder why Daniel even wanted to get back together with someone as self-absorbed as Tad -- oops, Theodore J. Bentley, the Third (we must use his addendum; he’d snarl in disgust without the full and flowing exclamation of his name and -- and...oh, the hell with it -- let him snarl). It’d always been too much of a one-sided relationship, with Daniel bending over backwards to suit Tad’s every wish...and even those wishes Daniel stupidly THOUGHT Tad had.

Well, the reason is really simple -- the man was fuckin’ gorgeous. And knew it. Period. End of thought about the whole process. If you bring to mind the epitome of every gay man’s dream, no matter what his type -- that was Tad. Built like a Greek god, golden to the max, a face so classic in its line with eyes so blue and cool and elegant...sometimes it hurt to just look at him. To picture Tad walking along the beach in his signature red square-cut Speedo (never a thong, never a plain Speedo, and no way in hell would he be caught dead in board shorts; those were for fat Russians, Australians and boogie-boarder-boiz), well, to see him was to see a prowling panther proudly policing his lair with the casual assurance that he could handle anything -- be it male, female or Flipper. How he and Daniel ever wound up as a couple was the source of endless speculation by one and all who knew them, mainly because Daniel was SO his polar opposite.

Not ugly, no; he just had...well...nice, decent looks. Lean face. Crazy thick brown hair with eyebrows to match, hovering over dark sloe eyes. Smooth olive-toned skin (except for this sorta-kinda 5 o’clock shadow dancing about his jaw and a surprisingly attractive scar along his left cheekbone). Put it all together with his hawkish, almost too large nose (obviously he took after the French-Portuguese side of the family) and the fact that he was trim (not skinny or even undeveloped; running, hiking and doing the bike trails of Pennsylvania back country managed to keep his lazy little self in neatly-muscled shape), he was pleasantly attractive in your basic Joe Average kind of way.

So why the hell a I’m-all-that guy like Tad would let a not-so-much guy like Daniel play high priest to his shining light for nearly two years was beyond explanation for most people. Unless it was the sex. Which more than one wagging tongue insisted must be true because they’d heard from someone whose currently lover had slept with another guy who’d heard from a friend of his that Tad was a lousy lay (once you got beyond the oral worship part of his dick) while Daniel had tricks up his sleeve that would turn the straightest guy to the pink side (and had proven it with one recently outted actor who had to un-out himself by getting married and having twins that actually looked like him, to everyone’s surprise) according to a friend who heard it from a friend who heard it from a friend.

But now they’d been broken up for three months and Daniel was willing to do anything to get back together, so when Tad dropped by that night to whine about how screwed he was thanks to these adaptations and his backers were pissed off at him and on and on and on, Daniel’d jumped in feet-first, as usual, with his proposal.

Now it should be noted that it did definitely help that the series of scripts were based on two of Daniel’s books -- oh, oh, right -- by the way, Daniel is most definitely a published author, under the name -- Daniel C. Bettancourt. Proud penman of six mystery novels. All featuring me, Ace Shostakovich, private eye extraordinaire.

Meaning, yes -- I’m not real. But if you think it’s weird a fictional character is telling this story, you ain’t seen what happened, yet.

26,052 words...

And the first draft is done.  And while it has farcical elements in it, this story is not a farce.  It's got too much going on that's too dark for it to be.  Nor is it black comedy.  It's just the lightest piece of fiction I've written since "David Martin"...and that was more of a fable that had some serious undertones to it.

There are bits I can add to this piece that will increase the word count, but I honestly cannot see this one making the 50K needed for NaNoWriMo.  I don't think I'd want it to, not if it hurt the story in any way.  And I'm not gonna cheat and just write crap to get to that number.  If I wanted to do that, I'd just plug the story in twice and have 52K.  Not gonna happen, not unless it works...and the truth is, I'm not sure I'm vested enough in the story to let it take over for the length of time it would take to complete it.

Besides, I'm still in a weird place, emotionally, and forcing the issue right now would be counter-productive if I want to keep it light and easy.  Well...light and easy for me and my ways.  I'm feeling somewhat alienated and unsure.  And the fact is, there's a lot more going on than just that diseased election and the final revelation that Obama was never the man he presented himself to be.  I mean, I didn't expect much from him -- shit, I can read the context of a sentence and his speeches leading up to his election were obviously ploys to convince people he would do what he said without providing the real sense he'd do it.  He was even verbally against gays getting married before he was elected, so why would anyone think he'd be on our side in everything else?  As he's shown, very clearly, he is not.  That he didn't live up to my diminished expectations is only evidence of how duplicitous he was, and has proven himself to be.

So...shove that crap aside, accept the reality of the world and try to figure out what the hell is going on in my life that's got me so messed up. right now.  I used to take nice long walks for this kind of contemplation, but I haven't in some time.  I think I'll start, tomorrow.

BTW, I took a break between sections of LD to finally watch the new "Star Trek" -- and I have to admit, I enjoyed it.  Chris Pine is cute...but Zachary Quinto is who makes my heart stop.  He was elegant as Spock.

Ennui washes through and..and...

 Aw, who cares?  I'm posting the travelogue pictures I made for my mother instead of writing anything because I had too much else to do and worked late and I'm heading for NYC on Monday for another day trip and so...