A Place of Safety - Derry / New World For Old / Home Not Home

A Place of Safety - Derry / New World For Old / Home Not Home
All three volumes are available in hardcover, paperback and ebook!

Monday, February 28, 2022

Reworking some things...

I've decided to redo the paperback cover of Porno Manifesto, my second published book. This will be the third edition; the previous cover is 8 years old and Facebook and Tumbler have gotten all pissy about it. When I try to post it on there, now, they freak out and block it. I think their algorithm takes the knife in the model's hand for his dick, but they won't explain it or give me a way to appeal. So...I think I'm going to use this as the avatar and front cover, now.

Lord, I published this back in 2008, with Nacza Plains Press, who put a cover on it I truly hated. When I got my rights back in 2014, I arranged with a photographer to shoot the model with the knife then got a background image from Shutterstock. Now I'm going for a cleaner, simpler look in my books, and this works a lot better. At least, the feedback is good.

This is the book I adapted into a screenplay, and there were things I changed in it to better reflect today's world that I would like to put in the novel...but I promised myself I would not be rewriting my narrative work once it's published, no matter what. Except if I find a typo. So I haven't. It is what I wrote at the time.

Still...if anyone wants to back me in making the movie, it could be shot here in Buffalo for under a million bucks, I'm sure. No car chases or special effects. Not a big cast. We could even shoot it in Toronto, if you want...make it work even better. Or Montreal. Get some porno boys in? Any takers? Hmm?

As for CK...I'm getting the first indications the characters think they went a bit crazy on me and are settling down. I'm still leery of them, but we'll see how it goes. It just means APoS will not be completed this year.

I can live with that...if this thing with Ukraine doesn't start WW3...

Saturday, February 26, 2022

Stepping back from writing, for a while...

I cannot come to terms with Carli's Kills, right now. This sudden implosion of the story has taken a serious toll on my self-confidence...to the point I wonder if I made a huge mistake shifting from art to writing. I'm caught in this downward spiral and don't know if I care enough about it to even try to change the trajectory.

That's not to say I reject the parts of my work that I do think...no, that I know are good. But those moments came from complete trust between me and the characters. I could not have written Bobby's suicide without finally just accepting that he was right about it and doing it, and letting myself grieve for him. I could not have helped Curt go from a wounded howling beast to a man finally understanding who he was without his willingness to help me and reveal himself to me.

It's the same in A Place of Safety. Brendan and I fight and he gets pissed at me for my wariness about the story, but he's still there to lead me into finding the depth I need to tell it properly. And what hurts me most about this sudden shift due to CK is how it's made me wary of returning to APoS. Made me fearful of it, again. Made me question my ability.

As I've said many times, I have to trust my characters...and I will do all I can to work with Brendan on his story...but it's been made into far more of a struggle...and I feel completely lost.

Part of this is may be due to the horror going on in Ukraine, and the anger deep within over how Republicans are dissing Biden and hurting the US over it. I was no real fan of Joe's when I voted for him, but he's done a tremendous job in the face of those bastards, and I'm now at the point I think I'd slap anyone who told me they were part of the GOP. now.

So the two are combined...maybe. I don't know. Events haven't affected my writing like this, before. So maybe I'm just looking for excuses. But the reality is, I just plain do not trust my abilities, at the moment. And I need time and space to see if I can rebuild them.

Friday, February 25, 2022

This is not going well...

What do you do when you stop trusting your characters? I've finally realized that I'm looking at basically doing a full and complete rewrite of Carli's Kills, changing everything the characters initially set themselves up for, and I'm pissed as hell. It's like I'm beginning from scratch...and I've already done that, once.

I went the direction I thought they wanted. Set the structure and timing pretty much down. Had the characters interacting in ways I thought they wanted. Wasn't crazy about some of the maneuvering I had to do to make things work, but it was going forward.

And I do mean they led me along this particular path. But now it's suddenly, Oh let's just start over? Let's not have Carli all THAT much of a killer. Let's take away Zeke's pain and just have him really upset at what's happened to a buddy. Let's not have Carli so full of guilt or anger.

I don't know what the story is, anymore. It's fallen completely apart.

This is the second time I've had this happen. First Dair's Window went off in wild directions, to where it was becoming Adam's story instead of Dair's...and now CK is going all kumbaya on me. Like they want to all smoke a nice peace pipe at the end that's packed with pot.

I also had a script collapse on me, once. This action-suspense piece about a mobster who has a witness against him killed, but the witness expected it and took out a contract on the mobster's son. Just not the one everybody knew about. He'd gotten a woman pregnant and she had the kid and moved across the country. The dead man aimed the contract at him...and a complete innocent is now Marked For Death. I got to the halfway point then BAM! Hit a brick wall. No idea where to go after that. At all.

Shit...maybe I'm not really a writer, except in a very limited genre of gay eroticism where the writing doesn't really count. Because I do not know what to do, now. I honestly do not know what to do.

Thursday, February 24, 2022

Grady's Punishment

***Be warned...this has non-con and some sexual violence in it, though not as much as when I first wrote it***

It was still dark when Grady woke. And it was fucking cold. His head pounded. He couldn't focus his eyes. His mouth was brittle and felt swollen, and he felt like he'd been run over by a truck. Shit, how much had he drunk, last night?

Then he realized his face was pressed against something hard and rough and unyielding, and it seemed like it was still dark. A breeze was whispering over him, making him even colder, and...and... 

Holy shit, am I outside? 

Well, that made absolutely no sense because Grady did not sleep outside. Ever. He needed a ceiling above him with his back firmly against one of the four walls around him...and that was not happening, right now, was it? 

I mean, like, hell to the no. 

But there he was...face down, now feeling grit, sand and stones pressing into his ear. Did he pass out? Did he have a wreck on his chopper? Was he crashed on the side of the road? 

Aw man, had everything that happened with Stasi...was it just a dream? 

He tried to roll over but couldn't move. He flexed his arms. They were frozen to his sides. His legs wouldn't move, either. He tried to speak but his mouth wouldn't let him. It felt like...like a tube was shoved in it? And was strapped in place...and he finally realized... 

He was gagged...and his hands were bound, behind him, and his legs were tied side-by-side at the ankles and knees...and he was on his belly on the ground, and that made no sense! Then he felt someone pulling at...pulling at his jeans? Forcing them down his legs to his knees. Shifting him so that that stones and rocks and grit under him dug into his pecs and stomach and chin. 

Shit...am I being stripped?! Oh, no fucking way. 

He began to struggle...but all that brought about was a sudden, sharp smack to his ass. 

"Oooohhhh," said a low growly voice that sounded familiar. "Grady's wakey." 

He tried to raise his head to look over his shoulder but couldn't turn far enough to see anything. So he began to grunt and howl. 

Whoever was yanking at his jeans stopped and pulled at the waistband of his briefs. Which weren't the cleanest ones he'd ever worn. Dammit. Hadn't his mother always yelled at him to always wear clean underwear, in case of moments like this? Always? 

Shit. 

The waistband snapped back against his skin, then he heard that voice say, "Good morning. Remember me?" 

Stasi...shit! She's doing this to me? What the fuck's going on? 

He starting to breathe heavy, and the thing in his mouth wouldn't let him speak. He still managed to grunt, "What the fuck, bitch? You into some kinky kind of shit? Lemme go! This ain't fun!" 

She chuckled...and he felt her tear open his briefs then slap his half-naked butt, a couple of times...almost playful. 

"Kind of hairy," she said, "but not bad. You ever do nudes, Grady? Show it off for the boys?" 

Shit, this had to be a dream. Some bitch has kidnapped and was stripping him? Was she about to ravage him? Damn, all the times he'd imagined it and now it was really happening? Really? 

No, not really. Because now he had an idea of what was up. The money in his lock-boxes. Oh, shit...he wasn't scared, now, oh, no...he was fucking terrified, because Dax would kill him if she took that away. 

"Who the fuck are you? What you gonna do?" He talked slower, trying to enunciate. 

He was pretty sure she understood him, but all she did was grab his cheeks and spread them apart, then begin rubbing what felt like a club or bat or tube between them.

Oh, she's not gonna do that...she wouldn't...she couldn't! 

All she said was, "I guess it's only polite to let you know, Stasi's dead." 

"What the fuck?" Grady managed to growl, despite the gag. "What's this all about? What's fuckin' goin' on?" 

He kept on and on with questions of the same basic nature as he felt that club press against his anus. All coherent thought vanished from his head as he bucked at her and fought to shift away, but she rode him like you would ride a bronco, laughing. Suddenly, the damn thing was vibrating and he felt the point of it pressing against his rectum...and...and... 

HOLY SHIT, IT WAS SLIDING INTO HIM! 

He bucked at her, even more, but all that did was help her push it even deeper. It was like she was splitting him in half, the soft humming and shivering of it tearing into his very being as he screamed and struggled but could not stop her. In fact, she used his twisting and fighting to help turn him onto his back, keeping that thing inside him, massaging him in places no one had ever gone, before.

His eyes were jammed shut in pain, so he only barely felt her pull at his briefs and tear them open to reveal his pride and joy, but he sure heard her sigh. "Oh, Grady, you're not circumcised."

What? What the fuck's that about? Who cares? She's fucking raping me and so fucking what if I still got my foreskin? 

He opened his eyes and finally saw the woman was dressed in a black leotard or onesie or whatever the damn things are called, with a balaclava hiding her head. Latex gloves were on her hands, and she held a travel-size jar of Vaseline. "I don't understand why all men don't have this thing cut off," she sighed, pinching and pulling at the foreskin. 

He grimaced and tried to shift away from her as the vibrations inside him kept shattering him to the core. 

She continued, with "It ruins the look. Gives a nice dick the appearance of a garden hose or an anteater. Gets dirty. Jews and Muslims have the right idea; just get rid of it." 

"Leave me alone. Leave me alone! Leavemealone!" 

He squirmed more as she pulled the foreskin back, making him moan, and not in ecstasy. "At least you're clean," she continued. "That's a positive. My mother's big on cleanliness. Causes cervical cancer, you know." 

And suddenly, she was stroking him! And she was rolling his balls with her other hand! 

What the actual fuck? Is she jacking me off? 

She kept on with, "The old testament hated foreskins, you know. I had to read the entire thing." She chuckled, then began to pull at him, hard. "Momma didn't expect me to notice was how stupid and male-centric it was." 

She kept running her hand up and down his dick. Rolling his balls with her other hand. Soft and easy but insistent. As for that thing up his ass, still shivering and humming...now he figured it was a vibrator. And to his horror, it was making him feel things he didn't think a guy should feel, in a situation like this. Like...like having his dick respond to her manipulation of him!? Oh, this was not to be endured.

 Except...much as he hated to admit it, this was feeling too damn good. Especially when she toyed with the ring in his left tit. The fire shooting through him made him clench his ass, slipping the vibrator in even deeper, rubbing rocks and dirt against his skin and pushing him harder against her hand. 

He was now fully erect. 

She stopped stroking him. He could do nothing but groan and shift as his dick flopped back on his belly, and look up to face a billion, billion stars. Not a single cloud, and the moon was full. Well, confirmation he was most definitely outside. 

The woman entered his field of vision and held up a gray backpack. Somehow he knew, if he could have seen her face, she'd have been smiling. Because that backpack had been in one of his Harley's side boxes. Which had been locked. It held the money he'd collected, that day, from Dax's pushers and dealers and suppliers. 

Dax is gonna fucking kill me.

"You think this is what I'm after, don't you?" she said.

He glared at her and tried to spit out a flurry of curses along the lines of, "You fuckin' bitch, don't you dare fuckin' do this to me, you fucking cunt, I'll cut your fuckin' tits off," and on and on as he struggled to free himself. Wasn't doing any good. He now could see ropes were also wrapped around his chest holding his arms in place. Dammit. 

"The cash is nice, but this isn't why you're here." She squatted down to flick at his penis, saying, "This is. Only, that erection didn't last long. Doesn't Grady have any staying power? Let's see what we can do about that." 

She shoved a hand between his legs, found the base of the vibrator was still just outside his rectum, and flicked a switch. It began to work harder and louder.

Grady shook his head and tried to scream. He bucked at the ropes, but all he succeeded in doing was crushing his hands and arms against the hard rocky ground. He cursed and howled and screamed and struggled but in moments, he was gasping from the pain. 

She began stroking him, again, one hand on his dick, the other back to toying with his balls, saying, "Y'know, Grady, men are pussies. I figured that out when I learned Moses was too weak-assed to circumcise his son, so his wife had to do it. Proved to me that women are stronger." 

She straddled his right leg, still working his dick. The vibrator kept humming on and on...and it working faster and almost angrier...rubbing inside him in ways that sent shivers through his dick and balls...to his shock, he found he was getting off on this. 

She pinched his foreskin, again. Hard. 

He yelped, then he started to whimper. 

"Something else to consider about this thing?" she continued. "1 Samuel 18:27. Wherefore David arose and went, he and his men, and slew of the Philistines two hundred men; and David brought their foreskins, and they gave them in full tale to the king, that he might be the king's son in law. And Saul gave him Michal his daughter to wife." Still stroking him, she tickled the fingers of her other hand up from his balls and through his pubes to his now-heaving little belly. "When I read that, first question that hit my feverish brain was, Did Michal go to her brother, Jonathan, and ask him what it was like to be with David? What with all that love that surpasses that of women stuff, he probably had an inside track on what made Davie run. Man, even just wondering about that was somewhat sacrilegious." 

She caressed the eagle on his chest and toyed with the rings in his tits and pulled at the hairs on his pecs and tummy. 

He squirmed and tried to shift away but could not...just grew harder and harder. 

"What do you think? If I was a man doing this to you, would you be able to keep from getting an erection? I doubt it. As you mentioned, once, men can find satisfaction with either women or other men, in the right place at the right time." 

She kept working his dick, gentle but insistent. 

His ass clenched. He pushed against her. That fucking vibrator was feeling better and better. He was close...so close... 

"You...you fuckin' rapin' me..." he choked. 

"Oh, Grady, can a woman rape a man? Many say no, that men can only rape women. Of course, they also claim that men can't rape men, so there is that stupidity to deal with." 

He grimaced, the sensations crashing through him far too demanding to ignore or fight or even try any discussion with. 

She chuckled. "Kinky boy. You're just like this...well, this guy I once knew. Built like a brick shithouse, with a voice you could hear clear to the South Pole. He also had a wife and five daughters, and he loved a big black dick up his ass when he was fucking me. Is that you, Grady? Should I phone a friend?" 

She sat up, still rubbing his dick. Up and down and up and down, the foreskin now all but vanished. 

"He and I had fun, more than once, with this gorgeous lad named Kareem. He was cut. So was Sarge, who loved being the meat in our sandwich." She sighed and continued, "It's funny, but just thinking about Kareem...and his smooth skin...no tatts...hair in just the right places...a smile that could shame the sun...and an ass that would turn any man gay...just picturing him gets me going." 

She caressed the eagle on Grady's chest then pinched his nips, again. 

"And needy. So, Grady, you're not as taut as him, or big as him, but would you still like me to fuck you? I could get undressed..." 

Grady was beyond rational thought, by now. Just breathing heavy, half from fear and half from outright horniness. He managed to growl, "You're fuckin' rippin' me off and you wanna fuck, too? That's fuckin' crazy. Get this thing outta my ass! This is fuckin' rape, you fuckin' cunt! I'll get your ass in jail and fucked every night, bitch!" 

She chuckled, shifted back and began pulling harder on his dick. 

He grunted. 

"So you don't like it when you don't get to consent? You get to do what you want, but if anyone does it to you, oh...not nice." 

She pulled, even harder. Stroked faster. He groaned...then he felt a surge explode in his groin and fire up from his balls to the base of his dick and he jolted and gasped and clenched and tensed and...and...oh shit, he ejaculated. His cum splashed back onto his belly and dripped into his pubes as he cried out like a dog finishing inside his chosen bitch. 

No, no, no...it ain't possible. She's got me tied down in the middle of the desert and she still got me to cum? How the fuck could that be? 

Then she pinched and twisted the ring in his left tit and he fired, again. Clenched his ass and shifted his hips into her hand and whimpered and gasped. His breath was sharp and ragged. And oh my God, the pleasure washing over him was way beyond belief. It was like the first time he'd jacked off. Sensations danced over every cell in his body, from his groin straight to toes and even his ears. He had never experienced an orgasm like this, before. He nearly blacked out from its his force...its near perfection.

"Was that good for you?" she asked, as she wiped his cum on his face. "Did you enjoy it, you little cunt?" 

She could tell he had. 

"I'm not after the money," she added.

Then she held up a gleaming single-edge razor blade. It reflected the moonlight. Looked as evil as anything ever had. She caressed his chest with it. Around his nipples, one after the other. Trailed it down treasure trail over his belly. 

"Can you guess what I'm really after?" 

He whimpered, confused. He was soft, again, so she gripped his foreskin. Pinched it tight. 

He tried to squirm away but she had too good of a hold. 

"I'm after giving you pain," she growled, "like you gave me." 

Then she pulled the skin out as far out as she could... 

Twisted it. 

Felt for the head of his penis. 

Cast him a smile of the purest delight...

And sliced the blade through his flesh.

And despite the gag, Grady’s choking shrieks of pain filled the empty, endless desert night.

Wednesday, February 23, 2022

Digging in...

 I've worked through the 1st 70 pages of Carlli's Kills to set up the new direction it's taking. Not a lot of change...until Carli kidnaps Grady. Now? No more exposition about why. She now wears her black leotard and balaclava, and lets him think she's attacked him for the cash he's carrying. He's collected from the gang's drug couriers and has plenty of it.

There is now a vibrator being used. She also quotes 1 Samuel 18:27 as she prepares to circumcise him. I figure I'm going to go all in on this and have fun with it. She's raping the men who raped Lara...who I'm thinking of making her sister instead of her daughter and remove all the uncaring mother angst in this thing. It was becoming a bit overbearing.

Problem is...now the title's a bit off. I need to think about that.

I can't do a lot of work on it right now because I'm also brushing up on export license regulations in the UK, for the NY Book Fair, next month, and prepping my taxes for my CPA.

So that's all for now.

Tuesday, February 22, 2022

Need a distraction...

 The Kiffniss is a South African musician who records various sounds, mostly from animals but not all, and makes songs out of them. Love what he comes up with...




I got nothin' else to say, right now...

Monday, February 21, 2022

It's official...

I'm reworking the middle of Carli's Kills. Dammit. But I like the off-beat aspect of a woman out for revenge who doesn't actually kill any of the guys. Just tortures them in very cruel ways. I may still have one die...but I won't know till I'm in the middle of it.

Won't be as huge of a rewrite as I feared; mainly just adjusting and shifting emphasis here and there...and removing some of Carli's doubts and self-reflection. Also, bringing back the razor blade I was having her use in place of a knife. I think that's actually scarier.

I also think I'm not going to have Lara commit suicide. She's emotionally damaged by the rape, but the video winds up causing a deep depression to the point of catatonia. Meaning I'll be working in moments between mother and non-responsive daughter. And grandmother.

And some of this back in. That's what I'm really missing...the men subjugated in ways that will really cause them the same turmoil as Lara went through. Less reason for Carli to slaughter the rapists and more reason to show them what rape really means.

The legal bullshit used to keep from doing anything about the rape remains, with lawyers protecting scum. And Eldora still holds back because she's on the take, from Dax. But more politics involved. And less wordsmithing to keep things going while still making sense. I'm aiming for a cleaner, colder, crueler line...with quips.

I think. I won't know if this is any better, really, until I write it.

Sunday, February 20, 2022

Here we go, again...

Carli's Kills just blew up on me, and I'm currently trying to make certain I'm not falling into one of my moralistic attitudes with it. In this version, she wouldn't kill any of the guys...just Stasi, at the beginning. But she does take revenge by hurting them in a way most men will hate, but doesn't necessarily lead to death. It sounds like a good idea...but it also sounds like I'm slipping into careful territory, and that's not what I want.

So I'm taking a bit of time off from the story to let this thing wander through me before I begin rewriting. I've had occasion before, where I get into overhauling a story with a new idea that would make things a hundred times better only to realize it's bullshit and the characters are fucking with me. Meaning I'm leaving them to it to make certain I'm not going to waste time, again. Because this would be like redoing half of what I've already written.

However...it might clear up some of the trouble I'm having with the story. The timeframe and doing a dance to keep Zeke from figuring out Carli's a killer. I want him nice and sweet and innocent, but not dumb. It's also entirely possible this will cut about 10,000 words out of the story, so I can avoid half of my tap dance with Eldora and Dax and all that crap.

I don't know why this is happening now, after I've put so much work in on it. I thought I was paying attention to what the characters wanted. But I watched an interview with Lucy Lawless about My Life is Murder, and she pointed out that it's a light, fun show with a bit of murder in it, then added there were plenty of dark crime series out there and she didn't want her show to be one of them. That we'd been through enough darkness, the last few years.

I could see her point. And if this turns out the way it's suggesting, it will still be very off the wall and funky; just not as dark or wicked as I was planning. I guess we'll see what happens.

But no matter what, Zeke will still be its heart and Carli its protagonist on a mission...though not necessarily one from God.

Saturday, February 19, 2022

I Hate Writing...sometimes...

I don't know how the hell people can write books so fast and easy. Am I just crap at it? Have I stupidly convinced myself I know how to tell a story when I can barely construct a group of sentences that make any sense?

I reworked the last two chapters and went over them, today...and what I did was sloppy as hell. Things are said that need to be said at that moment for the story to continue. Too much information is jammed into dialogue. Too much dithering when I dig into each character's mind...and it was awful. It read like a preliminary draft instead of a revision of something that had already been reworked four times.

Not the whole thing...really. Just the action from when Dax returns to the Cantina to the end of the next to the last chapter. That's when everything explodes. Like it was shorthand for who's doing what, where, how and when, and the reader can just fill in the blanks, themselves...and never mind those blanks are a mile wide, each.

I'm probably just tired. I spent most of the day setting up my storage space and checking out a mattress and finding a pallet to put on the floor of the storage unit then shifting boxes into it. On a COLD day with a nasty wind and probably -100 windchill. If I don't get pneumonia, it'll be a miracle.

I'll work on it, again, tomorrow...and Monday and Tuesday and keep at it till I can figure out what the hell is going on here and the damned thing works.

And now Zeke is just telling me to calm down because this part is coming together. Whether I can see it or not. I just wish I could get it done...

Hmm...I've always got him in jeans, but Alex usually wears shorts, showing off his bionic leg. Maybe I need to rethink some things I'm doing in the story...

Friday, February 18, 2022

The Joy of Writing...

It comes from keeping it as real as you can while it's completely unreal. Especially in fiction-writing of any kind. You fight to build a world that has meaning and grace and provokes thought while maintaining a core of truth and honesty...and who the fuck am I kidding? I just wanna have fun playing with my fantasies and spitting into the wind without it flying back in my face.

That's not so easy to do...not when your imagination is as warped as mine is. Right now, I'm trying to feed my inner growling thing a story where a woman is more of a man than the men in the piece, while a man is the heart and soul of it. Totally turning the whole damned aspect of basic storytelling on its head. And feeling somewhat bruised and battered by it all.

It took me finding this lovely image to remind me that there may be others who feel the same. Who might accept my cock-eyed vision of life as one deserving of acceptance in place of the real world. I need to remember that I'm writing a fuck you book...like I've written a fuck you screenplay. Freeing myself from the demands of generic writing. Screw conventions and normalized storytelling; this baby's not going down that road.

The protagonist in Carli's Kills is a woman who abandoned her daughter to the care of her less-than-beloved grandmother and went gallivanting all over the world, screwing around and treating men like live dildos, for the most part. She did like some of them, but they're toys to her. And no judgement allowed about that. In fact, she's proud of it.

Then she meets a lovely lad who brings her back to earth from her lofty heights...and doest't so much tame her as let her see there are other possibilities in life, and sometimes it's better to share them than to kick out and do it all on your own. She's not a bad woman; she's just hell on wheels, and God help anyone who tries to run her off the road.

I've felt moral judgement creeping into CK. Well...guess what? That's what's going out the window on this next draft. Carli wonders about her choices, but doesn't feel they were wrong. She was never meant to be a mother; religion and the law forced her to be.

And she just plain does not accept the whole idea that she was meant for nothing else.