Dissociation...

...defined as..."the splitting off of a group of mental processes from the main body of consciousness, as in amnesia or certain forms of hysteria."

Well, I wouldn't go THAT far in describing what I'm feeling, right now, but it's a light form of it.  And it deals with "The Lyons' Den."  This is the first script I've seriously gone about making into a novel...and in doing do find I don't like the script, anymore.  It's quick and silly and no longer makes sense, not without the emotional connections and background that have developed during this draft.  Daniel, Ace, Tad and Van have become more real than I could ever have imagined them on film, and the rest of the crew have become honest characters...some of them VERY off the wall but (hopefully) delightfully so.

I now see that the earlier version of the story was still too connected to the script and its surface reality.  I'd initially written it to be shot for very little money on film...and then to be done on-stage to test it out, but the best test of it's been this whole process of transformation.  Now that I've begun seeing LD as truly narrative, I'm no longer making excuses for it in my mind. I can tell where I held back on the script, mainly out of laziness.  I had it done and didn't want to invest the time it would take to make it a hundred times better.  My fault; maybe even my arrogance...whatever it was, I didn't do right by it.

BOY...no wonder no one was interested in doing LD.  But now...now I'm as proud of it (so far) as I am of anything else I've done (well, excepting POS).

I guess I WAS meant to be a novelist.  What a thing to find out at my age.

Oscars Young and Hip? NOT.

BOOOOOOOOring, is what they were.  Anne Hathaway tried, but James Franco was dead weight.  I worked on my taxes while it was on and got more excited about that.

I haven't seen even one of the films that were nominated, this year, so can't say if who won was who should have, IMHO, but I'm glad Colin Firth got it, finally.  And Trent Reznor!  WOW!  I have a line in a short script I wrote where a straight guy says he'd let Trent fuck him...and Daniel in LD loves "Closer to God."

I worked over more of LD, today.  Up to page 182 of 250.  Getting there.  Getting there.

This is America.
He looks like fun.

Here's Business and Politics
Rolled into one.

Here's Washington today.
Any questions?















Just to be as fierce as I can be, thanks to the crap the GOP and Tea Party are pulling these days.  I assume everyone's heard about the Georgia State Rep who introduced a bill making having a miscarriage punishable by death.  You cannot make this shit up.

Numb comes the brain from the strain in refrain

Marathon day.  Started writing at 3; it's now 11:30 and I'm running on empty.  BUT...I got the whole relationship between Daniel and Van and even Tad reworked.  I've just gone through the point where Van runs off for help, and the connection between them suddenly seems a hundred times more honest and real because I worked it to where Daniel's trying to be loyal to Tad and his idea of getting back with the guy even as Van sends out signals of "I'm available" while still indicating he's got an agenda.  And that's where the day went -- making that work.

It's funny, but Daniel's argument with Ace, Carmen and Tad in the shower over Van was the hardest part to do, because it was so centered on there being a bet, which segued into explanations as to what's going on or why things might be going on.  Then Carmen showed up in a different outfit that added fun to the process and suddenly it all fell together.  I thank Jamie from the "Mark Julian" series for that.

It's entirely possible I'll have a decent draft of this new version before St. Patrick's Day -- my deadline.  On that day, I'm planning to find a nice bar, have some corned beef and cabbage and a decently pulled Guinness, and begin again on "Place of Safety."  Hopefully I'll have enough time between stories to get my taxes done.

So far in seeking grants to help me get to Ireland to research POS, the only good one I've found won't work for me because I've already been published.  Found lots of competitions for short stories and novels, but nothing much else.  ExceptI haven't been to the library, yet, and there's usually an area of books on grants and foundations there.  Especially if I use the one at the University of Buffalo.

Okay, words are vanishing from my brain.  Away I go to recharge my batteries and prep for laundry and the Oscars, tomorrow night.  I need to buy a TV; I wasn't invited back to last year's Oscar party.  Oh well, this year I get to watch and eat my chips and bean dip and drink myself silly on Dr. Pepper.  And wish I'd done better in that aspect of my career.

Such is life.

Halfway there, finally

"Lyons' Den" is running right along.  I have the story up to where Daniel arrives at the cabin all set...well, as set as I can make it, for now...and have begun restructuring Van's interactions with him.  By adding moments of happiness between Daniel and Tad, it skewed the budding relationship with Van and something else came to mind so...that's what I'm focused on making work.

It was a nasty snow-storm day so I wound up not going in to the job, thus letting me have plenty of time to write.  I want to get LD done; I've been diddling around with it for too long.  Seems the post I did yesterday jolted me into seeing striking parallels in the US with Northern Ireland in 1967 and 1968, and my anger and exasperation can feed into Brendan.

When I said we're already into a civil war, I wasn't referring to the kind that happened 150 years ago but one more like the slow steady destruction of a society and its people, like in Northern Ireland.  Paisley's rants against Catholics back then are no more demeaning and vile than the rants of Tea Partiers against liberals and unions.  And for years, his ilk murdered Catholics with near impunity, like has happened here against Liberals.  The Left hasn't started hitting back at the Right like the IRA did against the fools who ran NI at the time...and against the British for taking sides...but it's still a possiblity.  A lot of people are fed up and sick of the spinelessness of the Democrats in charge.  That the Dems in Wisconsin had the nerve to leave the state in order to thwart that Koch Brothers puppet, Walker, is a shock to many of us on this side of the divide.

So...are we going to have our own 40+ years of anger and hate and bombs and bullets that don't stop until everyone is so sick of it all, they have no choice but to end it or slit their throats?  Even now, NI teeters on the brink of falling back into that chaos, though things are infinitely better than they were even ten years ago.

Meaning Brendan's calling and kicking my ass.  And he's right -- it's time to complete his story.  I have everything I need to lay it down in first draft and then begin touching it with the details of his life.  Should be fun.

Rant coming on

This has got to be the dumbest fucking thing I've ever heard anyone anywhere ever consider doing.

http://motherjones.com/blue-marble/2011/02/miscarriage-death-penalty-georgia

And it's not a joke.  THIS is what the GOP and Tea Party have sunk to -- wild animals.  Nothing more.  Not even sub-human.

I'm finally beginning to think this country actually is in the throes of a civil war, and casualties have been taken on the liberal side.  People who went to hear a Democrat speak.  A doctor who provided abortions.  Worshipers in a church.  A security guard at a Jewish Center.  Even cops trying to stop nutcases who were out to kill liberals.

TP freaks and their their favorite bitches carry firearms to political rallies and threaten armed insurrection if they don't get their way.  Political and judicial leaders call for riot police to put down protesters and suggest they fire at them with live ammunition, if need be.  Organizations of hate viciously harass gay men because they won't stay in the closet and weep fake tears of victimhood when someone points that out.  The list goes on and on.  And what does John Boehner think is the worst thing that's happened this week?  Obama finally decided to stop defending DOMA!  It's lunacy.

The US has always had its crazies at both ends of the spectrum.  I and most of my friends opposed the invasion of Iraq, but none of us went so far as to hope American soldiers would be slaughtered as they rushed into Bagdad, like one leftie professor did.  And more recently, another left-wing professor said Lana Logan deserved to be raped when she was covering the protests in Egypt (as did many right wing "commentators", the only difference being the leftie wound up ashamed of his comments and resigned from his post while the righties still pat each other on the back for being such complete assholes).

But right now the right wing scum have gone completely, totally and absolutely insane...and those are the people in office!  Their "supporters" are frothing at the mouth like rabid dogs.

This is already ugly...I fear it's drifting into complete chaos.  Too bad a wuss is our leader.

Hope it's getting better

Just posting some of what I been doin'. This is in the middle of Chapter 2.

----------------------


So Dan-O bought provisions at a drug store across the street, and exited just as this skinny big-eyed kid named Paul pulled up in a Cadillac SUV. Tad insisted my guy ride in the back, like this was a cab, then only agreed to let us swing by our apartment because we needed to pick up the laptop. His freakiness must’ve worn off on Paul (or maybe it was just his Wisconsin roots) because the kid got so antsy about double-parking as he waited, my guy just ran in and grabbed the satchel that held his laptop and notepads and almost forgot his towel and soap (explanation to come later). Meaning, he was stuck in black slacks (old but nicely worn in), white cotton shirt (no “T” under it; too clichéd), the comfy loafers he always wore and a knee-length parka for the weekend. And while that look gave him a level of coolness that almost matched mine, it still felt like a uniform to him and was not factoring into his happiness quotient.


As for me, I was already wearing the latest in cool-detective trench coats over your basic casual travel attire, which helps me feel like I’m on top the case...and which I can change in a flash.


Well, the second we scrambled back into the SUV, the kid punched it into warp speed, and in the nearly two-hour drive (that took over three hours because Little Lord Perfect told Paul to stay on the 287 instead of follow the 87 north, which none of us figured out until we were halfway back to the city) Dan-O read the last six scripts and grew angrier and angrier at the lunacy of what had been done to our babies.


“Aw, he CAN’T have Carmen doing that!” he squawked, reading a bit where she gets an anonymous tip in the “Madam...” part and races off to look into it without letting me know where she's going...which wound up making her a hostage of the badder-than-bad guys, of course. “Now she’s dumber than dumb.”


It got worse.


“Wait, wait, wait, no!” he howled. “She’s NOT saying, ‘You can be my private dick anytime’!?”


I just snarled. “Okay, Dan-O, who can we contract out to cut off this dickhead’s fingers so he can never type, again?”


“Gregory might know someone,” my guy said, giving my suggestion a moment of serious thought. Then he added with a note of triumph, “Well, looks like Tad really does need help.”


“That, or a fall guy.”


“It’s not my fault the scripts were written by someone with the emotional maturity of a five year-old.”


“It will be if this don’t work.”


“Jeez, Ace -- ANYthing I do’ll be better than this shit.”


And boy was he right about that. Seriously -- the more we read, the more it looked like the Cheeto-eater’d thought “Temple of Doom” was the “best movie ev-ah” and had played one too many Resi-Evil rip-off v-games, so he’d worked Carmen into a new-millennium-old-sexist version of Willemina Scott (with fewer smarts and a pair of forty-fours, and we ain’t talking pistols, here) while I was the Chris Redfield of Sam Spades with some Indiana Jones spread over the De Sade parts. Not that I minded being super-dude; it’s just...well, it wasn’t me, y’know, and I had my fans to consider.


Still -- “You’re talkin’ a re-do of four-hundred pages, Dan-O.”


“I can make it.”


“You just gonna cut and paste from the books?”


“On the first pass...and second...then polish.”


“Rinse and repeat.”


Dan-O looked up and blinked, asking, “What’s that from?”


“An old commercial for shampoo. Saw it on Comedy Central.”


“Right. Meaning use the shampoo twice as fast for no effect. Talk about advertising to waste resources. That guy should’ve been throttled.”


Of course, that’s when we noticed Paul eyeing us in the rear-view mirror, his wide eyes even wider, his hands gripping the wheel so tight, his knuckles were white. So Dan-O popped off with, “Don’t worry; I’m only borderline psychotic.”


“I know,” Paul squeaked.


You do? “How?” my guy asked.


“Mr. Bentley told me.”


He DID?! “What else did he tell you?”


“Listen, I -- I’m straight. Okay?”


Dan-O chuckled. “Don’t worry, we won’t hold it against you, will we, Ace?” And he looked right at me to say it, meaning to Paul it looked like my guy was talking to his very imaginary friend in the seat next to him.


The kid gulped and stared straight ahead (pun intended).


I snickered, “I love it when you’re wicked.”


“So do I. Now shut up and get to work.”


Thinking my guy meant him, Paul drove a little faster. Made me wonder what else Mr. Bentley’d told the kid about Dan-O.


But I blew that off and kicked back and started pondering the possibilities, peculiarities and just plain persnickitiness of the present project (told you I liked to alliterate). It was looking more and more like this job was gonna be fun, and the only thing missing was Carmen, who’d refused to join us on the trip. She said she’d be around if we needed her, but I got the feeling she’s really pissed at how she’d been made over and just wanted to see if we were going to leave her like that. Like she had no trust in my guy (which made me halfway wonder if she was off sweet-talkin’ some other writer to put her in HIS book, just in case this blew up in our faces; meaning, yes, we characters can be very fickle, especially if we feel we’re being dissed, ‘cause then we’ll just get pissed, and so some will insist they find a new wrist...to, uh, to do the writing -- okay, so I’m not a poet!)


Anyway, it was also good my guy wasn’t driving, ‘cause it started to snow. Nothing heavy, at first, just little flurries that got flurrier and flurrier the farther away we got from the city. It didn’t matter as we were traveling up this neverending toll road (which Dan-O had to pay since Sir Moneybags had given Paul zero cash) but then we crossed the Hudson and the snow started building into something mean. Combine that with the wrong-way fiasco, which meant we had to get off the freeway and trip along this street that couldn’t decide if it was a highway or a boulevard for so long, I thought we’d missed the connection back to the 87, and the rest of the crap in the scripts, my guy was close to being a wreck and Paul was starting to shiver in fear at the horrible things being threatened against the Cheeto-eater. The worst was when we exited onto the 6 and Daniel had to hand over a final buck-twenty-five just to get off.  He really started growling then.


“This is why I don’t own a car. Everywhere you turn they’re hitting you up for tolls, fees and added expenses.” No bullshit on that. Besides, why would anybody even need a car in New York City? The mass-transit’s great and it costs as much as an uptown apartment to put the damn thing in a parking garage. And do NOT get either of us started on the traffic.  Though it was too late for that; my guy was way into muttering mode.


The 6 turned into the 17 and we drove through an area of hills and twists and turns and construction as occasional signs read, “Future 86.” Which reminded Daniel of what they say in restaurants when they’ve run out of something. Which then reminded him he’d had to wait tables while in college. Which he hated. Which sent him on a spiral into thinking it was an omen of how things would turn out as regards the deal because he was probably 86’ing his future and on and on...till I reminded him he had some “Nine Inch Nails” on his iPod (which he’d just bought recently, and then only because he had some left over from the ten-K Tad paid for the option to my books -- okay, OUR books) so he pumped up “Closer To God” and we rocked along. Okay, so maybe the idea of a gay man singing “I wanna fuck you like an animal” in a car driven by an already nervous straight kid from Wisconsin isn’t what you’d call the nicest situation, but sometimes you just have to be all you can be, even if it IS a bit on the wicked-as-shit side.

Maybe I'm really Dickens

Seems no matter how hard I try to edit my work down, it just gets bigger.  "The Lyons' Den" is now up to 53,500 words.  I may be able to eradicate some duplications in the last 2/3 of the story, but as of now I can't figure out what.  Charles Dickens got paid by the word when he was writing, as did most authors back then; that supposedly is why they were so verbose.  I ain't got that excuse.  I ain't been paid royalties, yet, for one of my books, and the sale of my novella was a one-off payment.

Still...I'm having fun doing it.  And I'm looking into ways to get it published by a more mainstream publisher.  I've also begun looking into writing grants from various foundations and such.  I'm not so sure about writing contests; I submitted "Desert Land" to the one held by "Writers' Digest" and this bleak dark story got judged by a lady who writes honey-sweet books about redemption.  Needless to say, I didn't even get into the top 100.

I know that means I think the story was good enough to win.  Fact is, I KNOW it was.  I'm proud of it.  And I was shocked at its complete dismissal...until I learned just one person decided which stories were acceptable.  That just pissed me off.  So I'm being more careful about those.

If I can, I'm going to see about using grants to pay for a 6 month stay in Derry...but that's just a preliminary goal, right now.  I haven't researched this enough to see if that's even feasible.

So for now I work 3 hours a night on LD and push closer and closer to the end.  And work my brain on how to achieve my dreams.  This may be a fun period.

Work, work, work, work, work

I had 2 weeks worth of laundry to do, today, so while it washed and dried (at the laundromat; I don't like the system in my apartment building) I worked on Chapter 3 of LD...and broke it in half to make Chapter 4, as well.  It was way too long and chatty.  I then came home, put my things away and made my bed...and got back to work on LD...and got through Chapter 5...which I also broke in half to make Chapter 6.

Actually, these aren't really chapters; more like breaks in the story at points that make you  want to keep reading.  I hope.  We'll see how it flows once I have the whole thing restructured.

Then I watched "La Cage Aux Folles" (the 1978 French version) to remind myself of how farce should be played, as I ironed.  Which also gave my laptop a chance to recharge.  "La Cage..." hasn't aged well, mainly because of the attitudes it had about gay men.  Yes, Renato and Albin are the most sympathetic characters and the son is a jerk, but it's all very one-note and the kid's given a pass on his betrayal of the men who raised him.  It's understandable for the time, I guess, and the acting by Michel Serraut and Ugo Tognazzi did a lot to mitigate the stereotyping...and it is DAMN funny in places.  It's a good template for a farce.

I was living in New York City when the movie came out and loved it, mainly because I nearly died laughing in a couple of spots and it was one of the few positive portrayals of gay men onscreen.  I didn't appreciate the deft set up of the farce until much later.  I also knew a number of gay men in the city who were very, VERY butch (overly so) and others who were just like any other guy in looks and manner, even though they preferred male to female genitalia in their lovers.  Coming from Texas and knowing nothing but fey guys in San Antonio, it was a real awakening...and while I could accept Albin as a queen since he did drag, I was never completely comfortable with the girlishness of Renato because most of the time the guys involved with the drag queens in SA were pretty butch.

I've yet to see the musical and would like to, but I did get dragged to that hideous 1996 remake with Robin Williams, Nathan Lane and Gene Hackman and damn near walked out, it was so insulting.  Especially considering the people behind it.

I think the next time I'm in NYC, I'm going to see the play.  See how it works in the hands of a fine gay writer like Harvey Fierstein.  I have a feeling it'll be a fun time.

More pop than not

I can't believe it.  All of  sudden I had to find the lyrics for the theme song to "I Dream of Jeannie" because they figure into the story of Daniel and his Lyons Den.  Got no idea why, but now I wouldn't part with it from where it's landed, no matter what.

The first third of the story depends a lot on the characters in it -- Daniel, Ace, Tad, Mrs. Serff, Daniel's mother and sister -- but overall it's not as dead as it was.  However, a background of seriousness has begun to filter in...

...but so have good moments between Tad and Daniel, thus backing up why he'd want to get back together with the twerp.  Just having Tad being beautiful (as seen here) was really a disservice to Daniel, making him more shallow than I wanted.

That's the nice thing about writing a book -- I can delve as deeply as I want into a character's motivations and meanings, and it's helping me find the truth of the story.

And it makes the story more compelling, I think, because the way things are now, when Van comes into the picture it's obvious how things are going to go -- Daniel will dump Tad for him.

But if there's more of a connection between Tad and Daniel (seen here) than just lust, if they have a real emotional resonance, it's just possible Daniel will let Van pass on by and stay with the one he'd loved for so long.

That's important to keep interest in the story...keep it from becoming stale and predictable.

I hope.  Guess I won't know till it's done and read by a new crop of people.

I think I'm going to look into self-publishing this one.  Just to see what happens.  Talk about a new experience.