Broadsided...nicely...

I was detailing the dust jacket for HNH and went looking for an old post on Tumblr that I was sure contained some notes I'd once made about the synopsis...and this image popped up. David Beckham. Who I think is pretty hot, even if he isn't what I normally go for.

But it sidelined me. Reminded me of Franz and Léonidès' obsession with him. Got me to thinking and I came up with a reason for Blood Angel to be completed. This is what came out:

Léonidès winds up turning Franz into a Blood Angel, deliberately ignoring the wishes of the Oyim. But the guy turns out to be a full-scale horror. Killing at will. Fighting with Leon. Wreaking havoc in the clan. Leon finally tracks down Gabrielle and asks to trade Dmitriy for him. He thinks she could better control him. And she's thinking about it as she tells him...

“It’s hard to believe we are of the same blood. The same lineage. We approach the mortals in the same way, with the same goal...to feed. But for different reasons. I sought those who might help me in some way. Add to my wealth. To my retinue. To my pleasure, if you will. I cared nothing about the individual or their place in the world. It was only centered around my wants and needs, and theirs meant nothing to me.

“You, however, are the opposite. Your greatness is immaterial to you, but neither do you care about advancing theirs. No. Your reasoning is to end their cruelty and brutality. Your preference is to be judge, jury and executioner to those whom you deem unworthy of life, and you have excused this in your own mind as something good and not merely just as cruel and brutal as those you feed upon.

“How you behaved with Franz now shows me you are just as depraved as I. Just as selfish. Proving we are of the same blood. The only difference is, I am honest with mine. And more aware of it. You are still too much the little carpenter you were, before you were turned, thinking yourself an innocent youth.

“The Oyim are not our equals, you know. They can still lord it over the vampire world as much as they like. Maintain a sort of control. Present it as protection. Defensiveness. And the common members of our race will agree and follow. The mere vampires. They even have you convinced that they are more evolved than you or I, but it’s a lie.

“They are not our lords but our serfs. We are their masters, Léon, you and I. They can exert no control over us, because we are not merely Blood Angels. We are Die BlutEngel. A higher caste, even to them. And after millennia of being the highest of the high, they cannot accept being made secondary in their world. So they do all they can to keep you ignorant of the reality that you and I can do whatever we want, and need no one’s permission. Not even theirs.”

“Does this apply as well to Dmitriy and Franz? They are of our lineage.”

“No. Somehow...I do not yet fully understand how, just yet...impurities entered their strain. Franz more than Dmitriy. I almost believe with him it was his line becoming tainted by Germanic aristocracy. They have a tendency towards the brutal and mundane, cultivated due to their treatment by the Romans, no doubt.

“With Dmitriy, my feeling is his came through the Hebrew line, which added a hint of victimhood. Which is very damaging to one's self-confidence.

“However, you and I are pure Norman. No Saxon mingled in. Nor Hun. Nor Moor.”

“BlutEngel is Germanic in origin.”

“It is only their version of our true title...L’Ange de Sange.”

“Which is the same thing. Blood Angel.”

“Don’t be simplistic. There is a subtle difference in the emphasis, and that is where you and I depart from their bloodline. Evolve, if you will.”

Good advice...if you can take it...

I am going to try, once again, to simplify my life. At least some. Since I'm so close to being done with A Place of Safety and know what little more must be dealt with, concerning it -- basically, shifting the three volumes into paperback format and setting them up to be published -- I'd like to tone down all the other crap I've been dealing with.

There isn't much I really have to do, anymore. My youngest brother, Kelly, doesn't need me to help him with rent and food; he's got a steady income from SSI. And I doubt any changes the bastard MAGAts want to implement in it will take effect till the beginning of 2026. For either him or myself.

I won't be writing anything that requires massive research like APoS did. If I work on Dair's Window, I've got all the information I need for that. I'll just have to re-familiarize myself with it.

If I continue with Blood Angel, except for the part dealing with Léonidès turning Franz into a vampire I have that pretty much written up to WW2...hell, into New Orleans after Katrina. So that would be fairly straightforward to finish. 

Looking at the expenses I'll have coming up -- taxes to pay, ISBNs to buy, changes in my Medicare gap insurance -- I'm mainly in need of trimming my outgo.

I have all the DVDs I want. I have lots of books still to read...though I do find it awkward reading someone else's writing, because I'm often wondering why they chose to form a sentence this way instead of another way. Like I'm editing it. It's been so long since I've really gotten caught up in a novel...

And I'm pulling back from social media, except to push APoS. The animals have taken over Xitter and are weaving their way into Instagram and Facebook. I'll still support Ukraine as best I can, but I don't have the money to do it, anymore.

So I'm regressing into what Voltaire suggested at the end of Candide: "But let us cultivate our own garden." It's good advice in a time of complete chaos...as we are now sliding into. May even help my blood pressure, most of which is politics-driven.

That'd be a nice benefit of cocooning.

Dust jacket...

Okay...closing in on the final product. I wound up with more synopsis than I needed so trimmed it some. Reads a lot better. Gives a fair assessment of the story, overall. I may do more editing, though; still feels a bit clumsy.

Formatted everything into place, leaving space for the reviews I asked for. That I hope will come in soon. I could just reference the ones from the two other volumes, if need be. I didn't even ask Kirkus, this time. I don't think they do well with multiple volume stories.

Shifted a lot of the graphics over from the Photoshop copy of Derry's jacket. Which made things a lot simpler. And I like the progression of the front cover images. From boy to haunted young man to ghost.

My feeling about the ending of the story is it's a lot gentler than it was, but is still not bright and happy. It never was going to be. Having lived this long, and knowing what I do about history, I cannot see anything really coming together to make things better for people. Too many powerful interests have other plans...be they the rich...or megalomaniacs...or religious leaders...none of them want peace. not really.

The story I use to illustrate this at the end is from both the Hebrew and Christian faiths, and says more about man's incapacity for simple human decency...or, on the rare occasions where they try, to maintain it for any length of time...than anything else.

I just hope it does the job I used it for.

I should be sketching

You know what calmed me most, today? After taking the bus out to Lia Honda, where my car's being fixed? Getting put in an Accord, which I'm grateful for but don't really like? And working at the office for a few hours before hitting a grocery story so I could have food for Thanksgiving...and still forgot to get any turkey?

It was doing this little schematic showing how many pallets of boxes we can fit into a ocean-going container. Both 40' and 20'. We don't handle a lot of ocean freight, so this was to see what we could get away with for a large shipment. It works when using both 18x14x12" and 18x14x16" boxes.

It took all my focus and consideration. Which is funny to say because it's not that complicated. But I felt like I'd created something useful and easy to follow.

I also booked another quickie job, this one in Seattle just after the first of the year. So I'll have all of December to focus on finishing HNH. Still no word from my editor. Normally, she sends me corrections in 50-75 page batches. I hate to nag, but I'll need time to input everything and finalize both the ebook and hardback.

I think for the paperbacks I'm going to do simple covers with no photo art on them. I'll have to purchase ISBNs, which will be a few hundred dollars, but that should be it. And I'll put them out at pretty much the same time. Maybe a week or two between each one. I dunno about that, yet.

I was planning to treat myself to a full-scale steak dinner, once all three volumes of APoS were out and available...but I don't know if I can afford it. I might have to scale down to Chili's or Outback Steak House instead of Ruth's Chris or Russell's. I could also check to see if that steakhouse in Niagara Falls, Canada is still open, I guess. But it'll be nothing sumptuous.

And so what? It'll still be a celebration.

Public Service Announcement...

It seems that when you rent a car from Avis, you have to pay extra to get roadside service in case their car...a car you do not own but are already paying to use...breaks down. If you don't, they will charge you. Doesn't matter if it's not your fault. That you did everything right. That the car just stopped on its own. You get charged for them to send someone out to handle it.

That's what my day was taken up with. Fighting with Avis because they wanted to charge me $146.00 for them to take care of one of their cars breaking down. They've agreed to waive the cost, but when I mentioned I already had AAA and would have used them, instead, had I known this about them...the response was, "Well, now you know."

I also found out my Civic won't be ready till after Thanksgiving weekend...if then. And the cost to rebuild the brake system is nearly $6000. My choices are very simple -- I get the car fixed, or I junk it and do without. Because I cannot afford to buy another one. At least they'll let me use one of their loaners while it stays in the shop.

All of this snowballed into me freaking out over how deep in debt I am, and what charges I'll have coming up. Taxes. Maybe changing health insurance companies. The cost of putting APoS out in paperback. So all I did that could be considered constructive is work up my expenses for the last two jobs, which I'll take into the office tomorrow, after I get the loaner.

I have to; my printer is out of ink and I have no clean paper. Another $50-60 out the door.

How the fuck did writers manage in the face of the world's chaos? I'm no Dickens, Twain, Tolstoy or Stephen King, making a living off my words. How do you handle it when shit just keeps coming at you?

Good thing I've got a certain stubbornness in me that won't stop kicking me down the road instead of leaving me in the gutter.

Still fiddling...

I keep posting these synopses because by doing so, I'm reading them afresh and getting a better sense of how well they're doing. Or not doing. And I'm almost thinking this version doesn't really get the essence of the story and I should start over, from scratch...

Derry, April 1981

Bobby Sands’ hunger strike has been underway for a month and Northern Ireland is caught in nonstop demonstrations, protests...and death at the hands of the IRA, UDA, Constables and British soldiers. The last thing in the world Brendan wants to do is return there. But he is told his mother is dying and wants to see him, so he feels duty-bound to go.

Using the passport of his friend, Jeremy Landau, he enters into the country as an American Jew doing research for a thesis on methods of crowd control, which everyone appears to accept. After all, it’s been eight years since he was spirited away, and many think Brendan Kinsella is long dead. But the British being the British, since there was no body or funeral they're still thinking they want to question him about that bombing.

Of course, once he arrives Brendan finds out his mother never sought his return. In fact, she remains coldly antagonistic to him...while she's lucid. But Percocet messes with her grasp on reality and sometimes she even fails to recognize him as her son, while other times rambles tenderly about the past, as if he's not there. Obviously, the end is drawing near.

Brendan figures he was tricked into coming home because his younger sister, Maeve, needs the help. She is stretched to her limit, caring for Ma, and at the same time she is working for peace, with Father Jack. 

Their older sister, Mairead, is pregnant with twins so is of no use; their Aunt Mari is having issues with her own family; younger brother, Rhuari, assists as he can, but is more focused on keeping himself and his wife as far away from the back and forth with the Constables and Army as possible; while the youngest, Kieran, is in gleeful confrontation with them.

But worse that all of that? His older brother, Eamonn, who’s been in prison for years, is being pushed by Kieran and Ma to add his name to the list of hunger strikers. Something Brendan cannot abide.

He pitches in to help Maeve, planning to keep as low a profile as possible until his mother is gone, even as her ramblings raise troubling questions about his father’s past and why he was murdered. They also reveal unknown aspects of his life that shake Brendan’s long-held disdain for him. He starts to dig deeper into the man’s life, but then Father Jack lets slip that Joanna might not have been killed, sending Brendan careening into turmoil.

For eight years he’d thought her dead and himself partly to blame, and no one had said a word to him, otherwise. He tries to find a way to verify it without revealing himself, but before he can do so Bobby Sands dies and Derry explodes into more death and destruction.

Now Brendan is trapped. The British Army knows he's not Jeremy and are closing in to arrest him. And it looks more and more like there is no safe place for him.

Does this make you want to read the story?

Working on it...

This image is going to be on the back of the jacket.

I adjusted the synopsis for the dust jacket while en route to Chicago. Longer...more detailed...but better? Seems a bit loose.

Derry, April 1981

The hunger strike has been underway for a month and Northern Ireland is in turmoil. Demonstrations. Protests. Rioting. And more death at the hands of the IRA, Constables and British soldiers. The last thing in the world Brendan wants to do is return there. But he is told his mother is dying and she wants to see him, so he feels duty-bound to go.

Using the passport of his friend, Jeremy Landau, he slips into the country pretending to be an American Jew researching a paper for his thesis, and everyone appears to accept that. After all, it’s been eight years since he was spirited off, and many think the lad known as Brendan Kinsella is long dead...though that doesn't keep the British from still wanting to question him about the bombing that nearly killed him.

He quickly finds out his mother did not ask for him. In fact, she remains coldly antagonistic to him...while lucid. Under the effects of Percocet, she sometimes rambles about the past and fails to recognize him as her son. It is now very obvious the end is near, for her.

Brendan figures he was tricked into coming home because it is Maeve, his younger sister, who needs him. She is stretched to her limit, caring for Ma and working for peace, with Father Jack. His older sister, Mairead, is pregnant with twins so cannot help. His Aunt Mari is having issues with her own family. His younger brother, Rhuari, has been helping some, but is more focused on keeping himself and his wife as much out of the back and forth with the Constables and Army as possible. And his youngest brother, Kieran, is in gleeful confrontation with them.

But what is worse? His older brother, Eamonn, is in prison and being pushed to add his name to the list of hunger strikers. Something Brendan cannot abide.

Since his mother’s death is near, Brendan stays to help Maeve while keeping as low a profile as possible. But his mother’s ramblings raise questions about his father’s past and why the man was murdered. And he is sent careening into turmoil when Father Jack lets slip that Joanna might not have been killed in the bombing that injured Brendan. He tries to find a way to verify it without revealing himself but is blocked at every turn.

Until Bobby Sands dies and Derry explodes into full-scale rioting and death, trapping Brendan in the chaos as the British Army’s search for him closes in.

Cover work started...

I've begun prepping the dust jacket for A Place of Safety-Home Not Home and it's coming together nicely except for one thing -- I need to expand my synopsis for the flaps. What I have now is short, tense and to the point...maybe too much so.

April 1981

Hunger strikes are underway and Northern Ireland is in turmoil. That’s when Brendan is called home, thinking his terminally ill mother wants to see him. He travels there under a different name, trying to keep a low profile because the British still want to question him about the bombing that injured him. What he finds is, despite being in the final stages of cancer she is still very antagonistic towards him.

But he also sees his sister, Maeve, is worn out both caring for their mother while also working for peace. His younger brother, Rhuari, helps some but tries to keep himself out of the back-and-forth with the Army. then there's his youngest brother, Kieran, who treats full confrontation with the authorities as a game. What is worse, his older brother, Eamonn, is locked up in Maze prison, is considering adding his name to the list of hunger strikers.

Then under the influence of her medication, his mother inadvertently reveals secrets about his father that make him wonder if the man’s murder was really sectarian violence or merely petty revenge. But as he looks into it, Father Jack inadvertently reveals to him that Joanna might still be alive, which knocks Brendan off-center. He tries to find a way to verify it without revealing himself yet is blocked at everyu turn.

Then Bobby Sands dies and Derry explodes into rioting and death, trapping Brendan in the chaos as the British Army’s search for him begins to close in.

It barely covers the front flap so I've removed it.. Much more is needed...maybe. I'm still thinking on that.

Home, and happier...

Drove back to Buffalo along the 90 Thruway with it raining nonstop. Even a dash of snow.  The big, black Jeep Grand Cherokee Hybrid I was given is very comfortable and the heated seats were all I really needed to keep warm enough. If I get too cozy, I get sleepy, so I let myself stay a bit on the chilled side.

Tomorrow is laundry, a few groceries, gas, and sorting out the paperwork. I'm not turning the car in till Sunday, when I fly out for Chicago. It was a week charge for the vehicle, anyway. I still prefer my Civic's size to this SUV, but I can adjust.

My constant, right now, is being in a sort of limbo when it comes to the writing projects. I cannot seem to focus on anything except finalizing HNH. I did add in a bit where Brendan gives a deposition about being waterboarded while at Castlereagh. But he knows nothing will come of it. The European Court on Human Rights is too weak to go up against England's self-righteousness, as was proven in 1978 when Ireland asked them to designate the Army's treatment of certain prisoners as torture instead of, effectively, just saying it wasn't nice to do.

It added a paragraph into the next to the last chapter, but didn't affect the Table of Contents numbering.

I also decided I didn't like the final sentence of the chapter preceding it. Brendan saying his new role in life was that of Brendan Kinsella. It's silly. I have to think of a better one.

As I've often noted, the book is not done being written until it's in print.

Milk is the magic elixir...

Got the books on their way, despite a steady downpour of rain. There were two people with the van for pickup, so I let them bring the boxes out and I wiped off the water, once they were in the van, so everything would stay dry. I now know that 34 cartons at 18x14x12" will cover the floorboard of a transit van, wall to wall to the back of the seats.

Dropped by the Norman Rockwell Museum afterwards and got an actual poster of Murder in Mississippi. They didn't have it available the last time I went, a few years back. I have a smaller printout of it framed and on my wall to remind me that racist murder and hate have long been a part of this country's heritage.

Then I had a decent pizza and took a nap...and woke up feeling cranky. Till I had a glass of milk. That seemed to even me out. I like milk...not just in my tea but to cook with and...well, to be honest...it's almost like a comfort food. I practically lived on it when I was growing up. Would drink it instead of water. Same for cheese. Must be the Norwegian in me.

I worked up costing for a couple possible jobs in February and March/April...and found out there will be a shadow fair in San Francisco the weekend before the California Book Fair in Pasadena. Seems the organizers finally managed to drive out the previous people arranging the fair, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. But it's not something I need to deal with.

My next project is getting the book cover done for HNH. I have the template and will do the same as with Derry and NWFO...leave a blank space on the back for any reviews that come in. I'm not asking Kirkus because the last one was a bit off-putting. Didn't seem connected to the first book, at all. BookLife paid more attention to it.

So tomorrow is heading home. Then it's a quick job in Chicago-not-Chicago. Fun.