Kyle Michel Sullivan's Blog: https://www.myirishnovel.com/, page 145

Feeling good about my space

My apartment actually has more room, now. Just by rearranging a couple of pieces, adding some new shelving units, and switching my art table with my card table, I freed up enough space so I'm no longer bumping into anything when I move. Of course, I also threw out a lot of crap I'd been hanging onto since forever. I could do a lot more, still -- my old bookshelves are not in the best order -- but it's still a lot better than it was.

I'm sorting through the ending of UG as I work, wondering if I have it right. I was going to have it where Tawfi is being set up for the murders by his sister-in-law in order to remove him as heir to his country's throne. He has diplomatic immunity so could easily walk on murder charges unless his government withdrew the protection, something not certain. He's Muslim and some might refuse to do anything that would help the UK, considering their meddling in the Middle East. So best to discredit him in the eyes of his father, the king.

But that started seeming too...I dunno...obvious and easily found out. So I've been having quiet conferences with the three main guys in this, trying to find another way they can live with. One idea was to let Tawfi actually be the killer, but Devlin didn't like that and Reg wasn't keen because it would have led to his death.

Then there was having Devlin actually be the killer, as he's suspected of being, but that didn't work unless he would up killing Reg at the beginning, cancelling out all his angst and self-reflection. Which would have made for a shorter book, but he didn't like that at all...the drama queen.

I suggested Reg be in on the murders, and all three laughed at me over that. So I got to wondering...there's a point at the end where Devlin returns to Tawfi's embassy, thinking he's meeting one person but winds up being attacked by someone he did NOT expect...and that's where things come out...and part of the reason for the brutality of the murders is due to Devlin's actions, years earlier. Adds a lot of guilt to him. It would take some reworking of the rest of the story, but...

They all enjoyed the idea of Devlin feeling like scum at the end. It even makes the final denouement palatable...where he stays in the UK, a de facto exile from his home.

I have to say, that appeals to the poet in me... 

A good day...

Paul Manafort is guilty!

Michael Cohen is guilty!

Duncan Hunter is indicted!

Chris Collins is arrested!

The list of GOP scumbags caught by their criminality just keeps growing. Just like in Ulysses S Grant's administration -- those people are rotten to the core. He was the first Republican in the White House, and since then, they've had one goal -- to turn the keys to the US Treasury over to the rich, and nothing has changed in the last 150 years. My hope is this means the end of the GOP...so if things keep going as planned, this may be a very merry Christmas...

Click on the links to enjoy the stories...

Chaos abounds...

I'm trying to rework my apartment so it's more spacious...well, less cluttered...so everything is in a mess, right now. How I had it worked but was getting to be junky. Now I just want space...but any idea on how to achieve that is taking its time in coming to me...

I also want a new laptop. I hate this fucking thing I've got. The keys are so flush against the frame, I'm finding myself ten times more prone to hit two at once...and I can't seem to get the hang of how to avoid that. Also, some of the keys are so sensitive, if you brush against them they input a letter, while others you have to pound to get them to take. I have enough trouble with typos to have to deal with that crap, as well.

There's also the issue of when I'm online and link to a site...like my blog. A blank page comes up...and nothing happens. I have to hit refresh and then it's like it realizes I really did want to go to that page and brings it up. Other times, it just locks up and I have to power down and reboot to get it to go. It's like a little diva and there ain't room for two divas in my life; I'm enough of one.

I may shift everything I'm doing on UG into a plain DOC file and return to working on my old MacBook, then ship this fucker back to MAC to have it looked at before I throw it out my 4th floor window.

I miss my MacBook. It was bulky and old, but it worked good. If there was some way for me to update it enough to keep using, I would...but the fuckers at MAC say no way. And that pisses me off.

When I spend $2300 on a fucking laptop, I want it to work right and forever.

I meander...

Something I realized about my writing, today, is that I meander a lot. It's just...I like chit-chat between characters, as if I'm listening in on a conversation in a restaurant or airport terminal. Things like this, when Dev is meeting with Mahjub about inserting nano-chips into lapel pins for security purposes --

-------

He held up the crossed flags pin and said, “Here, I’ve worked up a preliminary idea of how this might work, but it may entail something more intensive than just setting up the pins; it would need to be monitored. That may prove to be unfeasible...”

I let him chatter in a language called computer-speak that I didn’t even begin to understand, but he told me he’d send me a couple of links and PDFs to help explain his ideas. We kept this up for hours, ordering in lunch from a nearby falafel shop. By the time Tawfi appeared in the doorway, I was so loaded down with techno-info I felt like a cyborg.

“I thought I might find you here,” he murmured. “Is all going well?”

I’m sure my eyes were spinning when I looked at him and said, “I now know the secret of the universe. Number Nine.”

He chuckled. “And I thought it was Forty-two.” He shifted to Mahjub. “Burn a DVD of yesterday’s meeting and send it here.” He handed Mahjub a card; the logo on it was for Griff’s hotel. “There is disagreement on what was agreed to.”

“I put a link on your site, sir,” Mahjub said.

“Which I showed them, but they wish to study it. Send a copy to our attorneys, as well, on both sides of The Pond. This may prove interesting.”

“I’ll get it straight over.”

“Tomorrow will be plenty of time. They don’t depart until Saturday. And once they have it, I will not be surprised if another meeting is demanded...despite my insistence it is not necessary.”

Mahjub nodded. “Sometimes the recording process is very slow, sir. One has to make certain there are no glitches or missed moments. I may not be able to get the copy to them till early afternoon.”

Tawfi smiled. “What a pity. Has my father accessed the video?” Mahjub nodded. “Then tomorrow should be interesting. Are you finished with Mr. Pope?”

Mahjub looked at me, and I nodded. “One more detail and I’ll turn into C-3PO, but without the manners.”

“Consider yourself fortunate,” said Tawfi. “You have been schooled by a master. This young man is the future of our country, and her best defense against those who would abuse her. We are very proud of him.”

Mahjub stood straighter and blushed. “Thank you, sir.”

“Do you know where my brother is?”

Mahjub turned to his laptop, did three clicks of input and up sprang a map of London, with a red flashing dot on it. “At his gym, sir.”

Tawfi rolled his eyes. “Which means his wife will be at Harrod’s, and my nephews are with their nurse. Mahjub, you may wish to retire before they return. And warn Abdel, as well. Let their driver bring the packages in.”

The boy hid a smile. “As you wish.”

Tawfi turned to me. “If you’ll join me...” Then he led me away from Mahjub’s room.

“Buying spree, huh?” I asked as we reached the elevator.

“My beloved sister-in-law believes money is a tool meant to bring her happiness. I fear for us all if it ever runs out.”

“So you’re joining forces with The Faure Group. They don’t have a very good reputation in the States.”

“Is that so?”

The elevator door opened and we steeped inside.

“But you already know that.”

Tawfi cast me a sly look. “I do hope you will join me in my flat. After spending the day in discussions, I would rather dine in than out. The embassy has a cook who is quite good; he could work something up. Not high-end, but not eggs on toast, either.”

“Sounds great. Are we being served? Or do we greet the delivery guy at the door and tip him with a blowjob?”

“You are delightfully vulgar,” Tawfi chuckled. “My maid and butler are off, tonight. We shall have to serve ourselves.”

“Can I have dinner with you, tonight?”

“I can think of nothing that would please me more.”

Then he hit the button for the elevator to go up.

-----------
The reason I call this meandering is, I've been reading Agatha Christie's Cards on the Table and it has a long section where Poirot and 7 other characters are playing bridge during a party while their host dozes in a chair before a fireplace...and it goes on and on about who passes, who bids, who's got spades and who's got clubs...and it bored me. I skimmed it.
Even after it turns out the host was murdered during the card game by one of the participants, it still has long bits of information handed out that troubled me...like who kept score, who was the dummy (are those the same person?). It might be her dry style of writing, I'm not sure, but I don't want people reading my books to get bored.
So I need to minimize the meandering...

Keeping on...

I love to write because it lets me build a world I want to be part of, even when it's hard and  cruel. I don't write sweet simple stories...even The Alice '65 has some serious darkness in it, as does David Martin...but I grow to love my characters as much as if they were real. Hell, sometimes they're more real to me than not. Even UG is one I wouldn't mind being part of, and it's pitch black, in spots.

I set it in London because I love the city and would be happy to live there or close by. England's been my second home for as long as I can remember. It's half the reason I made Adam English, in A65, and have Reg as the epitome of beauty and desire to Dev, in UG. I even set a couple of scripts in London.

I don't know where I'm going with this train of thought except England is where I'd like to move if I was to leave the States. Canada's cool and I could live there, but I don't think I could afford it on just Social Security, and I'm not making anywhere near enough money from my writing to supplement it, enough. Plus, they've already turned me down when I asked about emigrating there.

Of course, Ireland's another possibility. Live outside Dublin, somewhere. Hop an occasional bus up to Derry to continue working on APoS. Letterkenny isn't far from there. It's isolated, but I'm isolated in fucking Buffalo, so no change there.

It's just...I feel like things are not going to get better in November. I can see the GOP remaining in power in both the House and Senate, even if only by one member, and that'll be the end of this country. That motherfucker in the White House will have destroyed us as a Democracy and given Putin his fondest desire -- the end of America as a rival. China will also celebrate. And Czar Snowflake's family will reap the goods and live in places near and far and not give a damn about the misery they've sown.

And I don't want to be here as it happens...

The Queen is dead...

...Long live the Queen...I have nothing more to say.

Some of UG...

This is after Devlin's been released, connected with Tawfi and been attacked in his hotel room. The police halfway suspect he set the supposed mugging up, but he wound up with a gash in his arm that suggests otherwise. It's now Saturday morning and the front desk woke him to let him know a Mrs. Colin Pope wanted to come up...

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

I opened it to find my brother's wife looking at me with an expression that could be amusement or bemusement or a need to use the toilet, for all I could tell. She was in her casual chic mode and looked like she'd just finished prepping for a ladies' lunch, not spent all night on a crowded plane. I let her in with a growl of, "You got here fast."

"I was invited to a baby shower, Dev," she said. "I wasn't sure I could make it, but my mother changed her plans to watch the boys and Marci said, even though she's really busy, she'll handle Colin for Monday and Tuesday. So, here I am."

"Good ol’ Marci. No bags?"

"Downstairs. I’m staying with friends."

"You talk to Colin?"

"When do I not?"

Oh, shit, this was gonna be rough. "I'll order coffee."

"Tea, please." She looked at my arm. "Rough night?"

"My room got broke into," I said. "Not even worth Channel Four taking note."

She just nodded. Obviously did not believe a word I said.

I put in an order for a full English breakfast and the hell with the cost, then sat on the bed as she eased into a chair, her eyes locked on me. I'd seen that look before when I'd done something she didn't approve of, like a mother disappointed in her child. I took a deep breath, grabbed a pillow, and shifted to lie back, my eyes watching her eyes watch me. "Okay, let's have it."

"Glass always half-empty with you, isn't it?"

"Diana, I ache all over. I didn't sleep well. And I'm still freaked out at getting attacked, last night, so cut the crap and get down to -- "

"Some of our dealers have been interrogated by FBI agents,” she said. “About you. Two in Los Angeles. One in Chicago. Three in New York."

Shit. "Why?"

"The FBI’s questions were regarding an extortion racket, and FYI -- Griffin Faure is behind the complaint."

I laughed. "You’re not gonna tell me he came back to the States to admit what happened?"

"He’s been back a while,” she said, causing me to sit up. “And yes -- he’s telling his version, with the suggestion there may be others who've been, oh, caught in the same trap."

"Griffin Faure, bullshit; Papa's pushing this, and he’s just pissed 'cause golden boy and I had some fun,” I snarled, then added for good measure, “and I recorded it."

"I know. I know all about that.”

“How?”

“I know Rio, too.”

“He told you!?”

“He trusts me and he’s worried. Federal agents are trying to find out more about you and the Faure Group, and they are pushing hard. Hitting informants. Questioning how certain people got repaid for losses cause by that criminal family. They’ve even been to West Nyack. Lots of huffing and puffing, but no arrests. So far. But Rio wanted to talk to you...and when he couldn’t find you, he contacted me.”

That made me blink. “You haven’t seen the videos, have you?"

"You can be sure the FBI has. What's more -- I also hear a certain Congressman is helping the Faures push this.”

“Aw, fuck,” shot out of me, followed by, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be, Dev. It’s just you and me. Now...what you did with that shit, Faure -- I really don’t care. He stole from us and nearly drove Colin to suicide. He got off light. What I want to know is why this shit is coming down on us, now, and what you did to cause it."

That made me look closer. She had her mommy eyes on; I'd seen them when one of the kids was trying to pull a fast one. "How’d you find all this out, so fast?"

"I used to be a party girl in the city that never sleeps and could teach Vegas a thing or two about keeping it there. Once I make friends, they're friends for life. You never know who'll come in handy when you need some help."

"You think you can offer any?"

"Depends on how you answer a question."

"Oh, jeez, that crap, again?” I sighed and leaned forward. “Okay, hit me."

Her smile widened. "I just need to know -- did you ever know someone named Kenneth Tavelscha?"

Oh, son-of-a-bitch, it was worse than I thought. I just nodded.

She nodded back. "Have you kept up with him?"

"Not since college."

"He's that Congressman. Republican. Bought and paid for by the Faure Group, and they’ve been cross-referencing. Apparently, for a while, because less than an hour after you'd been arrested by the Metropolitan Police -- “ I shot a look at her. “Yes, I do know about that, too.”

“Christ,” shot out of me. “You didn’t tell Colin?”

“Devlin! And freak him out?”

“Right. Sorry. Guess I’m the one freaking out.”

“You should be, because Tavelscha had the TSA add your name to the no-fly list, and an hour after that, the FBI opened up that investigation into your blackmail racket."

"Oh, fuck! Papa Faure’s attack dogs’re barkin’, loud and clear.”

Fortunately, room service arrived and I was able to shift focus away from my inner chaos. I let them set everything up, signed the bill and tipped them and got them out, the whole time trying to figure out what I should and shouldn't say to her. Didn't do any good; she had her mommy eyes on me the whole time.

She calmly poured out tea for herself and coffee for me, then set up a chair beside the tray, took a slice of toast and piece of bacon, and sat back in her own chair.

I kept standing by the door, unable to move, my brain spinning.

After another minute of watching me and sipping her tea and nibbling at her food, she said, "Devlin -- you know how Colin and I met, right?"

I had to nod. "He...he got lost and you...uh, you found him. Brought him home."

"You know where I found him?" I shrugged a yes. She smiled. "I always thought it interesting you never said anything."

I sighed and glanced at her, my mind beginning to focus. "I didn't need to."

Her smile widened. "Y'know, the only reason I approached him was, Rio'd heard my usual connection got busted, and that I should assume the new guy's a cop. So when I saw Colin, no way did he belong in that neighborhood. Fuckin’ rookie, was my first thought, so I went over to play with him. Be a real bitch. But he looked at me with those lost, dark, lovely eyes, and the first words he said were, Oh my god, you're so beautiful.” She sighed. “I wasn't. I was at the tail of a party weekend. But his attitude...his whole manner...it was so simple and straight and honest and sweet, I fell apart. Sobbed. He said he was sorry and gave me a handkerchief. Cheap white cotton. Buy 'em by the half-dozen. I still have it. Wouldn't part with it for anything."

I turned to her. "You're good for him. For both of us."

"Thank you for that." She smiled and pulled out a tissue to dab her eyes. "It took me ten minutes to find out he'd met with a client and parked his car in a cheap lot to save a few bucks, but couldn't remember which one and was close to falling apart. I offered to call someone but he panicked and said you were at school and your father off on business and no one could know how he'd screwed up. So we went to every lot I knew -- and found it at the fifth one. By that point he was shaking so badly, he couldn't drive, so I got behind the wheel. And I stayed. And we have three beautiful perfect sons." Then she looked straight at me to add with a near growl, "And I will never, never, never let anyone -- anyone at all -- hurt him or them. So if you don't give me the complete and absolute truth, I'm here to have fun at a baby shower for an old friend, and then back to New York.”

Where they would build walls to protect the business, and I'd be fucked.

Ping-pong in my head...

I'm bouncing back and forth about the idea of changing who the killer is, in Underground Guy. I had it involved with political intrigue...but now it seems to want to be about revenge inflicted for revenge taken...and that still feels too obvious. The question is, would the people involved in either scenario go so far as to commit 4 murders and attempt a fifth to achieve their goals? Not sure about that.

The political intrigue angle involves Tawfi being next in line to the throne of his Middle Eastern country. He's been bred to become a leader, in control, while his younger brother is pushed aside...so the man's ambitious wife takes it upon herself to make him the next king in place of Tawfi. How she does it is a mixture of lies, conspiracy, cold-blooded murder and double-dealing that nearly gets Dev and Reg killed.

The other possibility is that Griffin Faure arranges with Tawfi's sister-in-law to not only make him seem unfit for the crown but to also get even with Devlin for what he did...and never mind he started it by defrauding Devlin's family of nearly $300K. He wants to take down Tawfi because he's being a pain about a business venture their two companies are joining up for and thinks the brother will be easier to manipulate...which is true; Tawfi's too hard to negotiate with.

Other possibilities are Kenneth Tavelscha, a Congressman Dev took on in college, and Ryan Orriaggio, a Chicago cop who manhandled his wife (Dev hates cops, already, so it doesn't take much to set him off)...but those don't feel right. Too arbitrary. I'm still leaning towards the political one, but won't know till the book's done. I couldn't decide on who killed Owen Taylor till the fourth draft of the book and Jake showed me how it happened and how he found out. Then it became as solid as concrete.

I'm hoping the same will happen, here...just sooner...

Aiming for 450 pages, or so...

I think that's how many typed, double-spaced pages the book will be once I'm done with it...which should translate to 340 or so pages in paperback form. I still have a fair amount to do, but it's getting there. Once everything's in order, I can go through and remove repetitions and explicit explanations. I'm trying to keep away from those.

A new possibility opened up, today...a different killer. Not sure how I feel about it, yet, because everything fits so neatly the way I have it...but it's not beyond the realm of possibilities to rework the ending to fit it and might make more sense. My one fear is, it might make so much sense people figure it out before it's revealed in the book.

I've been told the revelation of who committed the murders in OT is a surprise, but makes sense once they read it. I want that for this one, too. So far, the story takes place in a week, in real time in the book, but Devlin jumps around a lot when talking about things that have happened to him and his brother, Colin...and his revenges. He's getting to realize his father's abuse may have damaged him in ways unlike it damaged Colin, and he might need help to get past it.

If he doesn't wind up in jail, thanks to his illegal activities. And I'm not sugar-coating what he does. While he has his good reasons for every one of them, the effects of his actions is now coming back to crush him and he can see revenge damages not only the guilty but the innocent...and that's the part he cannot handle.

I've begun reading The ABC Murders and Agatha Christie's style is not nearly as irritating in this one. She's almost introspective. It's about a series of murders committed by some unknown person who is deliberately doing them to taunt Hercule Poirot. I've just finished the one beginning with C, and find her use of occasional third person sections is interesting. I know it's a device meant to confuse, but it's still off-beat, for her.

I wonder how far I can go to shake things up in UG?

298 pages done on UG

Devlin is fighting back, now, down and dirty. He's blackmailed a Congressman into ending his support of the sanctions against him and investigation into his family's business. He's also investigating the murders on his own, because he thinks the Metropolitan Police are focused on the wrong man. Of course, when he mentions this to Sir Monte, the head of the investigation, he's accused of trying to cover for the killer.

I got a lot more information into the story by having the Met force Devlin to assist, and he's smart enough to give them some of it. But now he suspects Tawfi's brother of having something to do with the killings, not because his gaydar went off (it didn't), but because the man reminds him of someone he almost became involved with. A man who Dev thought about joining for the night but backed away, and later learned the guy beat a man to death for calling him a fag.

I'm also adding in that Tawifi's DNA matches that on the dead men, pushing this into crisis zone for Dev. He can't figure out how that happened...but will.

There's a lot of sex in this book, deliberately so. It's how Dev operates...lets off steam...gets through life since he can't handle the fact that his father killed his mother and he's slowly becoming the man, himself. Dev attacks men who the police think look like his father but, in reality, Devlin brutalizes men who look like himself. Not sure where that came from or why...but it's interesting. I just need to dig into it, more.

And in case anyone thinks this is auto-biographical -- it's not. I've never assaulted anyone, though I've had the chance on a few occasions, with drunk buddies. And my preferred man is the opposite to me -- dark, fit, hair on his chest and solid, hence the picture of Chris Evans grinning like a goof...

But I did know a man who beat a convenience store clerk to death in San Antonio, years ago, and was convicted. He made me uncomfortable every time I was around him, so I stopped being in the same places as him. He may still be in prison, for all I know.

Instinct counts for a lot more than we think...