Kyle Michel Sullivan's Blog: https://www.myirishnovel.com/, page 188

Redoing my redos, again...

Naturally, I reworked a fair portion of what I posted, yesterday. Nothing major, just polishing for clarity and getting the momentum going for the next section, which takes me up to the point where Adam is going on the trip to LA. That's at about page 20.

Movement is always good. Even is it is one step back to get yourself ready to go two steps forward.

I'm set to fly to London for a couple days, January 9th. I cannot wait. Pins and needles, I stand upon until the day comes and I arrive there. I'll have a day to myself so plan to do some logistics research for my stories...including A65. I want to see what Epping looks like, since that's where Adam lives, with his mum.

I guess I need to start thinking about getting a new laptop. My MacBook is almost 9 years old and getting to be slow. I have a dual processor in it, which may be why it's lasted so long, but I have no idea how I can afford a new one. and I'm leery of refurbished ones. I may have to start using my tablet to do anything online...which is a pain.

I already use the tablet for financial stuff since my browsers are refusing to provide updated security unless I upgrade my OS, but I've gone as far as I can with that. It's like my Mac Mini; I can't do anything online with it, anymore and it's only 11 years old. I keep it because it has PhotoShop and Final Draft on it.

But it looks like I'm coming up on some more life changes, so...

Okay...some head-banging ended...

I finally found the style I want to tell the story in. It's a bit jokey and casual but is close to Adam's way of speaking without being totally there, and I feel better now. Only took me all weekend, half of which was spent expanding on the characters and putting notes into the story of things I wanted to add.

Here's the new opening...as it currently stands.

-------

The Alice '65 is one of the rarest books in the world. Taken from the very first print run of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, it entered into the world of rarity when Sir John Tenniel, who had done the illustrations, saw the final result. He so disliked how his artwork appeared in them, he badgered Lewis Carroll into recalling the copies that had been sold, having the printing plates reset and the book reissued. All but fifty were returned and only twenty-four of those are known to still exist, so normally it would be a bibliophile's dream to be asked to fly to Los Angeles and return to London with a newly discovered copy of this very book.

But Adam Verlain did not want to go. To begin with, his area of expertise was manuscripts from the Fifteenth to the Eighteenth Century, mainly works of literature, philosophy and history. It would have made far more sense to send his colleague, Elizabeth Pascal, a lovely young woman who worked in the next cubicle and whose focus was 19th and 20th century works ... and he didn't think that because he rather fancied her; she wasn't quite what one would call a book person, yet, though she did have the makings.

And then there was Vincent St. George, head of the antiquarian book collection, a role he had occupied for untold decades ... perhaps even since the university was founded, in 1691. The one issue was, Vincent was more than twice Adam's age and had the appearance of a Victorian ghost, so the trip might have been difficult for him. Still ... he wasn't exactly at death's door and it would have made far more sense.

In fact, all that was really needed was someone human to fly over, accept the book on the university's behalf, and fly back. For that, they could have sent Jeremy, who almost qualified as such and who photographed the books once they were archived then joined their image with the on-line list. He was young and full of himself, and would love a day or two in Los Angeles. But he was also somewhat immature and much-tattooed and pierced; hardly the image the university would want to project.

Of course, Adam fit the image, perfectly. Trim, just under six feet tall, always in a suit and tie, with a face that gave him the look of an inquisitive cat. Granted, his life was in the process of gathering dust before he'd hit the age of thirty, and he also hated traveling, but the main issue was ... another copy of this book had gotten his father killed. The man had won it for a client at auction and was transporting it up to Edinburgh when he was robbed. In Newcastle. Was kicked down a flight of stairs, breaking his neck. Adam was but fifteen.

So he wanted nothing to do with The Alice '65, and had he known this was how his Monday would turn out ... well, he had a month of sick days coming to him, and he'd have taken every one of them to avoid being trapped into this. But by the time he realized what was about to happen, it was too late to change course.

Naturally, the day started well enough. He arrived for work at eight-fifty-two, as usual, and was in his cubicle by nine, sharp, his computer fired up and ready to go. He also had his usual moment of incongruity, looking around at the three-hundred year-old room with its arched ceiling and dark carved wood, everywhere, the ambience completely shattered by the island of modern work-spaces set up in the middle of it.

By nine-thirty, he finished the provenance on a rebound copy of Orlando Furioso, in Latin, which had been presented to King Victor Emmanuel, in 1866, not long before the Third Italian War for Independence. He had noticed indications the book was first given to Pope Pius IX on his selection to the papacy, twenty years earlier, so had spent nearly a week trying to confirm it. Which caused him some difficulty with Vincent, the Friday before.

"We've a hundred other books to archive," the man had said, in his veddy-veddy-British tone, "and you spend five days on one inconsequential volume?"

Granted, the book was bound in a plain speckled calf and a bit worn, yet it was still in fine condition and the possibility of it being linked to two famous men was more than worth the effort, so he had snapped back with, "Sir, I have never believed any book is inconsequential."

Which jolted Vincent into his most ramrod posture, bringing out the worst of his Oxford attitude as he snarled, "Nor is this one more consequential than any others on the cart, so be done with it."

So Adam finished with it, that morning, not completely satisfied but taking no end of pleasure in knowing he had done the fullest research on it. Still, Vincent needed placating, so he dove into a copy of Erasmus' Morais Enkomion, which had been sitting on the incoming cart for over a week because it was in Greek and no one else would touch it. He was done by three, and since he and Vincent were to meet at three-thirty, he hoped presenting the provenance on this book would soothe the older man's huffy nerves.

But first things first. He tenderly carried the Erasmus past the other cubicles and down a short hall, singing it a soft little song, in Greek. "I see a book that's going to be took for Jeremy to photograph and put with all the rest. It's a lovely book which soon will find its nook and she will be considered one of our very best." One had to follow protocol, don't you know.

More done on A65...

I'm expanding the characters and writing some bits to add to the story, once I get the the appropriate spot. I've decided to stop worrying about what kind of book it's going to be -- romance, comedy, drama, suspense, whatever. It's going to have everything, and I will not classify it by simple terms.

I had someone once tell me they thought the screenplay was going to be a chase type movie...like a bookish version of Indiana Jones, and they were disappointed when the script didn't do that. It surprised me and I started second guessing myself and my characters, wondering if I ought to make it something more exciting. But I didn't...and I'm glad...as is everyone.

Adam is starting out just right and will be the most changed by the end of the book. More sure of himself. Less willing to be a joke or doormat. Happy that one aspect of his life is finally taken care of. Unhappy that another is left open...and yet not unhappy.

Casey is also undergoing change, tho' not to as drastic an extent as Adam. She already has control of her life in many ways; she just finally decides to take control of it all. She's taken chances in her career but played it somewhat safe with her emotional life, and that's what's got her all fuzzled up...till she jettisons it.

Patricia is changing as a character as I go along. She was on the underdeveloped side but now she's joined the conversation and is giving me layers for her life. Her history. Her reasons. Her excuses. Her explanations. Her dreams. I think I'm going to have a blast with her and let her be as wicked as she wants to be, at the end.

I'm not sure what's going to happen with Lando and Veronica, yet; they're sill being stand-offish. But I think they'll come around. Making Lando older -- 35 instead of 30 -- is already making other aspects of the story change. That may be why he's being huffy. Typical actor.

And I've given the Aussie businessman a name and background. Same for Casey's grandfather. This just seemed right, and may have been a mistake to not do so in the script.

And what do you think about Sean and Shawn as the names for the paparazzi twins who stalk Casey? Is that too cute? Considering their characters, I'm prone to not think so.

Looks like I'm having fun with the story, again.

Now to back away...

Backing away from my obsessive-compulsive hate of everything Trump and his ilk are generating...I've been doing my sketch a day and it's been beneficial.
This is my latest one. I stopped using Pilot Varsity fountain pens because they bleed on this paper and are hard to control. This sketch was done with a fine-print Sharpie.

I like doing these...

America today, as written in 1961.

Actually it was written earlier, but this explanation of how easily Nazism took hold in Germany. We are seeing something similar in the US. Maybe not to the extent, but still enough.
Burt Lancaster oversells it, but it still holds meaning for today.

Judgement at Nuremberg...

I got a copy of the DVD today. The movie is the fictional trial of 4 German judges who helped find legal excuses for the Third Reich to perpetrate its atrocities. Set in 1948 just as the Berlin Crisis was about to happen and politics changed the reality of morality. It's a long preachy movie, but never dull and sometimes horrifying.
Spencer Tracy's speech as he's about to deliver judgement on the German judges is apropos to today and condemns those who use Trump's childish, animalistic behavior as justification for them to attack those they don't like.

Does this work?

I'm back to vacillating between first and third person on A65...so does this work? Is it interesting? Is it too on-the-nose? Does it set the story up? I honestly can't tell, right now.

-------

The Alice '65 is one of the rarest books in the world. It was from the very first print run of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and entered into the world of rarity when Sir John Tenniel, who had done the illustrations, saw the final result. He had so disliked how his artwork appeared in them, he convinced Lewis Carroll to recall the copies that had been sold, have the printing plates reset and the book reissued. All but fifty were returned and only twenty-four of those are known to still exist, so normally it would be a bibliophile's dream to be asked to fly to Los Angeles and return to London with a copy of the book that was meant to be a part of his university's collection.

But Adam Verlain did not want to go. To begin with, he disliked leaving London; it was civilized, easy to get around in and he liked the world he occupied. What reason could there ever be to leave it?

And then there was how his area of expertise was Fifteenth to Eighteenth Century works of literature and philosophy. It would have made far more sense to send Elizabeth Pascal, a lovely woman who worked in the next cubicle and whose focus was 19th and 20th century works. She wasn't quite what one would call a book person, yet, but had the makings.

Another possibility would have been for Vincent Bergerin, the head of the Research department, to make the journey. It would have made more sense, since he had been angling to bring one into the university's fold for decades. But then ... he was old and frail, like a Victorian ghost, so the trip might have been too much for him.

Of course, there was also the fact that a copy of this book inadvertently got Adam's father killed, so he wanted nothing to do with it. Had he but known this was where Monday would lead ... well, he had a month of sick days coming to him, and he'd have taken every one of them to avoid being trapped into it.

Naturally, the day had started out normal enough. He had finished the provenance on a rebound copy of Ariosto's Orlando Furioso, in Latin, which had been presented to King Victor Emmanuel not long before the Third Italian War for Independence, in 1866. There had been indications the book was first given to Pope Pius IX on his selection to the papacy, twenty years earlier, and he had spent a week trying to confirm it, which cause him some difficulty with his boss.

"We've a hundred other books to archive," Vincent had said, "and you spend five days on one inconsequential volume?"

Granted, the book was bound in a plain speckled calf and a bit worn, yet it was still in fine condition and the possibility of it being linked to two famous men was of some importance, so he had snapped back with, "Sir, no book is inconsequential."

Which had jolted Vincent into a ramrod posture and brought out the worst of his Oxford attitude as he snarled, "Nor is this one more consequential than any others on the cart, so be done with it."

So Adam wrapped the book up, that morning, not completely satisfied but still taking no end of pleasure in doing the fullest provenance on it. Then to placate Vincent, he worked on a copy of Erasmus' Morais Enkomion, which had been sitting on the incoming cart for over a week because it was in Greek and no one else wanted to touch it. He was done by three, half an hour prior to a meeting Vincent had arranged with him. He knew this would soothe the older man's huffy nerves.
-------It just seems a bit impersonal to me...but it's proving to be the easiest way into a decent opening chapter for the story.
Any comments?

Not a day for light writing...

As an antidote to the hate, anger, and despair I'm feeling, now that Donald Trump is officially the president-elect, I'm going to do a sketch a day in a blank book I have. It takes my focus away from the filth surrounding that man and makes me pay attention to something creative.

Here's what I did, tonight. From a photo I found online, using a Pilot Varsity fountain pen. Spent 25 minutes on it. Nothing great, but I feel easier now that it's done. Art always has been my mellow tool. Better than pot or drugs. Maybe this will get me back on path.

I'm also checking into ways I can assist in the protest of Trump and his chumps. The ACLU is already inundated with people asking what they can do, and Robert Reich is still formulating how best to respond. I'm not dealing with the Democrats, anymore; save for a very few, they've proven to be craven cowards or $2 whores.

I'm not putting politics into A65; it's not what the book wants. But I am changing UG when I return to it, using Trump and his brats as inspiration for a part of the story. And P/S is now more relevant than ever. As is a story I developed years ago then put aside -- Uplanders, about a post-apocalyptic world of the few haves and the many have-nots.

I have to do something to keep this country from crashing into the oblivion of history. Whether or not I do any good is beside the point. Doing likes on Facebook is not enough, anymore, nor is signing petitions that no one pays any real attention to, and I don't have the money to just back a group that is already fighting.

I'll just do what I have to do.

Ahh...back to the old head-banging...

After a great deal of work and rework and effort and thought and contemplation and writing and rewriting and re-rewriting...I think I finally may have a decent opening for A65. I'm trying to avoid my usual habit of slamming in a dozen characters in the first 20 pages and focus on Adam and his world...and this is what I came up with, finally...

----

I did not want to go to Los Angeles. I would have been more than content to remain in London, researching provenance on antiquarian books and manuscripts for the university's library, but I was given little choice in the matter ... and it has completely upended my existence.

I suppose I should begin by saying, my name is Adam Alexander Aloysius Verlain, and books are my life. Have been since the age of four, when I began to hold them and read them for myself. That's not to say my parents never read to me; my father would more often than my mother, but he was a dealer in antiquarian books so shared my affinity for them, while my mother preferred to attend to her physical therapy clients. It worked out well enough, especially for my brothers and sister, none of whom were as enamored of books as myself, so I was labeled father's pet while they were Mum's.

I would say that in the last 26 years, I have read every work of fiction there is, from Thackeray to Dumas to Dickens to James to Hemingway to Grass (in German, which is not as hard to learn as people say) to McInerny (in American, which is only a vague form of English) along with the works of Blake and Chaucer and Dante and Johnson and Plato (in Greek, which is hard to learn). They're wonderful things, books. They carry not only the stories and knowledge printed onto their pages, but also a wealth of history and the countless biographies of those who possessed them over the years ... decades ... eons.

I think that is what caused me to focus on works from the fifteenth through the seventeenth centuries -- the wish to know not only about the book, itself, but also who her owners were and what worlds she passed through. I once archived a rebound copy of Orlando Furioso in Latin (which is a lovely language in its simplicity) and discovered she had been presented to King Victor Emmanuel not long before the Third Italian War for Independence began in 1866. By whom was unrecorded, but there were indications she was first given to Pope Pius IX on his selection to the papacy, twenty years earlier. I spent a week trying to confirm it, which cause me some difficulty with my boss, Vincent.

"We've a hundred other books to archive," he'd said, "and you spend five days on this one inconsequential volume?"

Granted, she was a plain-looking volume bound in speckled calf, a bit worn, it's true, yet she was still in fine condition, so I snapped back with, "No book is inconsequential, sir."

Which jolted Vincent into his ramrod posture and brought out the worst of his Oxford attitude as he snarled, "Nor is this one more consequential than any others on the cart, so be done with it."

I finished the next day, still unsatisfied. But I took no end of pleasure in doing the actual provenance on her. So to placate Vincent, I immediately began work on a copy of the Erasmus Apophthegmata to soothe his huffy nerves. Got that one done in a day, which is my normal speed. Once I focus on my work, I can build provenance faster than anyone else on the staff. However, it was this focus which led to me being trapped into my journey.

--------
Still not quite there, but I think it begins to set the stage.

Dropping UG for now...

I can't seem to concentrate on Underground Guy. I want to work on A65...so I'm giving in and shifting back to it. The draft I have is too rough for me to leave alone, and it's been more than 2 weeks since I finished it so I've had some decompression time...and I'm getting ideas on how to make it better. Like Patricia getting Adam stoned on her brownies instead of drunk on spiked OJ. That adds to his munchies-madness and makes it more believable since he's never been high, like that.

Turns out I AM headed for London, on January 9th. Back on the 12th. I finagled an extra day so I can scope out some things about A65, UG, and Marked For Death. All set today. Hop down to NYC, pick up an item to hand-carry (going business class over!!) and spend a day on the east end of London. Do a tight flight back (economy).

Watch it snow and keep me from it, like it almost did on my trip to Lisbon. That time, I took a train down to make my flight and still barely made it. It snowed nice and heavy, today. I continue to find it magical, and it did give me the excuse to cancel a doctor's appointment till after the new year, but I do not like driving in it. My car is small and needs new tires.

I may also have a packing job in Oklahoma, of all places, in later January. Not sure how I feel about that. I lived in Texas too long to think of Oklahoma as anything but more redneck than Dallas or Texas A&M. Goofy, scary place of tornadoes and earthquakes and Trump lovers. If the electoral college doesn't anoint him on Monday, it will be even scarier.

Almost back to normal after my procedure, earlier this week. It's taking a while. But since it was so clear, I may not need to do it again for another 10 years.

I'd like that.