Kyle Michel Sullivan's Blog: https://www.myirishnovel.com/, page 224

Regained...and conflicted...

Two big things going on, right now. First off, regaining Jake's voice for The Vanishing of Owen Taylor. Jake is an angry man, still, something I've been trying to temper...and that's a disservice to him. The good thing about having the story shredded and dismissed was, it jolted me out of my locked mindset and let me see that half this story is about Jake coming to terms with his own past. Actions he took that he's now ashamed of...actions he can't accept have made him capable of handling the crap being shoved at him in Palm Springs. He talks a good game about not judging anybody...but he doesn't notice he's judging himself most harshly.

That released some fear and/or concern on my part. This story is just going to be what it's going to be. In fact, I think I held back a little too much, so we'll see how this draft comes together...and comes across. I do still think it's a bit too much on the strident side because I don't have a lot of humor in it. I'm not good at that and so...I am going to fight my own sense of inadequacy and try to put some in. God only knows if I'll be successful.

As for conflicted -- we have two book fairs happening on the West Coast the first and second weekend of October. The first one's in Pasadena on the 3rd and 4th; the second is in Seattle on the 9th, 10th and 11th. Since it was initially my plan to take some time off and that got messed up by these jobs, I've been given the opportunity to handle both fairs if I want to stay in LA through the week; I'd head up to Seattle on the 10th.

I want to...but it'd be at my expense for those 5 days and I really can't afford it. I'd need a car, gas, food, hotel...probably to the tune of $800. Doesn't sound like much, but I'm behind  in my taxes and have other obligations; I've already cut my monthly expenses to the bone so haven't any leeway to do more. But me being me, I probably will do it. Who knows? Maybe I'll sell a script by then; I've got a couple out being considered.

Yeah, and maybe I'll win the lottery, too.

Shredded...and reacted to...

Well, I guess it had to happen sometime. Most of the feedback I've gotten on The Vanishing of Owen Taylor has been good and constructive and instructive. Some of it I kind of expected, some of it surprised me...but if three or more people say the same thing about what you've written, it's not their problem...it's yours. The general reaction has also been pretty much positive about the story...until today.

Just before my meeting in Springfield, I got feedback that tore the story to bits. Completely. "The mystery was of no consequence. Hated the connection to Europe. Felt it was more about being a gay man in America and who cares?" And on and on. The one positive comment was that I do know how to write...but I've become a bit too heavy and dark, not like another gay writer they've read whose touch is light and airy.

What's interesting (to me) is my reaction to it. As noted in this blog, I've had people diss my work before, down to the point where they say I should never write anything ever again. Comments like that used to affect me, but now I tend to shrug them off. You can't please everybody and anyone who tries will be viciously disappointed. And in reply to this I sent off my thanks and said that I appreciated the further verification of what others have pointed out -- that the story doesn't really get going till about page 150. That is something I'm working on.

But I also got kind of pissed off. Not at the criticism but at the dismissal of what it means to be a gay man in America. We've got religious and political leaders here saying gay men and women ought to be executed and denied the same rights as others and rounded up and put in camps or on desert islands, and they are doing all they can to marginalize us...and that gets a big shrug. In Russia you can be put in jail for being gay, or kidnapped and brutalized to death and nothing will happen to your attackers, and that gets a big shrug. In Saudi Arabia and Iran and under ISIS you can be executed for being gay and even gay organizations will try to minimize what that means...and still a big shrug.

This picture is what it means to be gay in too many countries. These kids in Iran were 15 and 17 and got hanged for basically jacking each other off. The accusation was expanded to claim they'd raped a 13 year-old boy after the Western media got busy broadcasting it, and too many people decided that was an easier explanation to accept (coming from a regime constantly accused of lying and misrepresenting everything else about itself) than the idea that they were murdered for who they are. I'm not letting that get ignored, and I'm shocked that anyone thinks this can't happen in the US or Europe. Because it already has, too many times. Just look at the killing of Matthew Shepard; Elizabeth Vargas with ABC news went out of her way to help foster the idea that his murder was just a drug deal gone wrong, not a hate crime against a gay young man.

Now all of this is still par for the course, for me. I'm very left wing and despise those who despise me and others like me. But it's my deeper reaction that's interesting to me. I was pulling back a lot of the political commentary as being too much...and I'm stopping that, right now. I feel like I was giving in to opinions that this wasn't necessary. Well...Jake is my surrogate in this story, and if I'm using him to preach to the choir, so be it. I want it out there, not shrugged off, and if that means the book comes across as strident, it's fucking strident.

Because I just got reminded there are too damn many members of the choir who aren't listening or paying attention, so they need the preaching.

Changed plans...

I just drove over to Springfield, MA to meet with a trucker/warehouse company for an upcoming job. It was so last minute, I booked my car and hotel at 1pm and got here at 10:30pm. Nice enough drive but this time I was in a "compact" car that's really a skateboard with a steering wheel...and I felt every damn bump along the road. I'm driving straight back, tomorrow.

Thing is, I like being on the road. I feel free and can let my mind deal with things that need dealing with. The only down side is I'm sitting for long stretches and dealing with the idiot drivers out there.

I did get some thinking done about OT and ways to trim it a bit more. And another project about an older man with Down Syndrome going on a road trip from Buffalo to Key West with his attitudinal nephew began drumming at the back of my brain.

Another problem with driving -- no peace in what little mind I've got left.

To illustrate or not to illustrate...

That is the question. Whether 'tis nobler to let the book work along strictly in the narrative form, or if it's better to slip in sketches of what's happening, as was done by Dickens and Lewis Carroll and such. I kind of like the idea, but it's not cheap to have someone else do it; I paid below rate for the images I got for David Martin and it's never going to make its money back.

Of course, I could do it, myself, but that would not only take time away from my writing, it would also require more discipline of my work than I usually do. Better detail. Precise renderings. All that stuff. What I did just for publicity purposes for The Lyons' Den is my preferred style and that won't work for this. Pen and ink is better...

And choosing the best moments to illustrate? That would be a pain and a half.

And for a book the size of OT...I'd want more than a dozen images. More like a few dozen. No, that sounds like too many. I'd have to see. Oh, let's not forget my tendency to rewrite up till the last second. I might have a lovely sketch and have to drop it because I changed the narrative.

Sounds like I'm talking myself out of it...or into it...you never can tell with me...

Write and repeat...

Okay...it looks like I will need another beta-read of The Vanishing of Owen Taylor once I get this rewrite done. Because things...they are a-changin' in it. Nothing massive or even seriously structural, just different. I'm combining Ned and Steve and shifting a major plot-point at the end from Father Paul to DDA Philby, for example. Which means bringing back in another character. I'm also dropping Preston's wife and kids. He's still a straight ally, but explaining not bringing the family into the mix was too complicated.

On top of this, I'm cutting out a lot of Jake's proselytizing; it was coming across as far too preachy and gave him a lack of focus, at times. So...my goal of cutting the story down to under 500 typewritten, double-spaced pages is beginning to look realistic. I'd like to make it 450...but we'll see how that goes. I'm adding in some bits, as well, to keep things moving better.

No idea how long this draft will take to get ready, but I doubt I'll make my Thanksgiving cutoff. In fact, the more I think about it the more I want to see about getting it published through a company that will help publicize it. I've worked with three different ones, so far, and up till now it's only when I've done my own publishing that my books have had a facebook page or any kind of publicity...and I can't do much.

I dunno...I'm still thinking about it. I'm also thinking about polishing up some of my low-budget scripts and sending them out in my DBA name. I've got a couple that could work that way. Give them a fresh start away from an old fart who'd be considered worthless by a youth-obesessed business. This way, I'd still be connected and can legally sign contracts under that name as his rep, and no one need know what I've been doing for so damn long...which is, achieving nothing.

But I don't see this as a pseudonym; it's just a new line of attack...

The last of OT's Chapter One...

It's working...so far...
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She had no more questions and neither of us had any answers, plus I had to head back to the airport, so we left it at that. But while waiting to board, I did some research via my phone...and came up zeroes. Oh, there was plenty of crap about dad and Mira. And I found a couple of snippets about mom and this anti-gay branch of the Catholic church she's joined up with -- 18/20. I had enough Catholic in me to know it referred to the parts of Leviticus that condemned homosexuality. Good ol' mom.

I tried to find out something about my uncle, but there are thousands of Owen Taylors and Google was not doing the work in separating them. It wasn’t till I got to Copenhagen that I caught an idea of what might be going on. I'd kept the apartment there because it looked out over Koge Bay. You could sit on the balcony and watch the ships pass. Man, I loved that place. The eight months Tone and I had lived in it helped me rebuild my self-confidence...my meaning...and since I'd only recently become a citizen of Denmark, it also kept me as a legitimate resident.

Our landlady lived downstairs and always stacked our mail on the table right by the front door, no matter how high it got. She wasn't home when I arrived, so I grabbed everything and sat on the balcony to go through it. Most was crap, but mixed in were a couple of envelopes from Uncle Owen. One was five weeks old; must've arrived just after I left, the last time. In it was a house key and a printout of a note that read, You’ll need this when you come. O. #4870*. The other was postmarked a month earlier but must have just arrived. It had a printout that said, Dear Jacob, I need to see you, ASAP. O.

Dear Jacob? He never addressed me like that. And what’s this when I come crap? Even more, why was it sent here? He knew my address in Texas...hell, he knew everything about what Tone and I had been through in that fucking state. He could have got hold of me in no time if he'd wanted to and I could've been by his side the next day.

I tried to call him, again; his phone still went straight to voice mail. Another e-mail bounced back, so I contacted the service and found out his in-box was too full of unread messages for it to accept any more. Man, did I had a bad feeling...

I was just about to hit the shower when I got a text from Mira. My father finally admitted to her that mom called because no one had seen or heard from my uncle for three months, and she wanted him to use his influence to kick-start an investigation into his disappearance. He swore both phone calls were about this, nothing more.

Which was bullshit.

He knew as well as mom that Uncle Owen was also gay and had been cut off from mom and Uncle Bert for twenty years. The only reason I knew him was through my grandmother; she’d figured out early on that he should be available for questions once I started asking them. Which I did just after I turned fifteen. Then he and Nana’d been the only ones who backed me up once I got disowned. And sent to prison. And released on probation. And after Nana'd died, he'd seen me right through to my exoneration. He knew me too damn well to call me Dear Jacob.

Which meant something was wrong.

Which meant soon as I was done with Uncle Ari, I was headed for a talk with my mother.

Which I hadn’t done in years.

Shit, I'd rather be back in prison.

More from OT's opening chapter

Long drive back from DC, so here's the continuation of ...Owen Taylor, Chapter One. It begins at the end of what I posted a few days ago --

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

I'd called him but learned nothing more about the situation till he e-mailed me a week later --

Preston and I met with a district attorney about my case, today. His name is Warren Philby, and he is the epitome of an aging metrosexual. Or is he a deputy DA and Ms. Ginty his assistant? Not that it matters. He obviously hates working in Indio. He and that little bitch tried to make me take a deal.

“It’s an excellent one,” he said with all the sincerity of a used car salesman. “Disturbing the peace. Six months probation, and if you meet all conditions, the conviction will be expunged. This is the best I can offer.”

I told him, “I’ve done nothing wrong or illegal, so I see no reason to say I did just to make your job easier.”

“Oh, stop it,” said Ms. Ginty in this really snotty voice. “We have a witness who backs up the officer’s version of the arrest.”

Which was nonsense. There was no one around but me and that officer. I told them this, and Philby shrugged. “That’s not a workable defense, telling the judge everyone’s lying about you. He won’t believe a word of it.”

"Aw, cool," Preston responded. “We'll have a trial by jury.”

“The jury won’t believe you,” Philby said, giving off this heavy-hearted vibe. “I’ve had convictions with less evidence.”

“Then you should be ashamed,” I snapped.

“Who’s this other witness?” Preston asked them.

“Officer Roy Harper,” said Ms. Ginty.

Preston laughed. “Another cop? Aw, this is easy-peasy. C'mon, Owen.” We rose and started for the door.

“Wait, we’re not done, yet,” she snapped.

In answer, Preston just chuckled and headed out, and I slammed the door, behind us. Well, tried to; it’s on one of those auto-close pump-action set-ups, whatever they’re called, so it only bounced back and then slowly settled shut on its own steam. So much for my Bette Davis exit.

Of course Preston already had a copy of the arrest report. Not a word of there being a witness on it. Hardly a surprise. So I immediately went back to Page’s and got a copy of the security surveillance video. It’s all indoors so doesn’t show any of our interaction, but it backs me up in so many other ways, this trial will be quite the experience.

I’ve also learned a friend is facing the same charges and Preston's his attorney, as well. Makes this doubly interesting.

The only problem now is that priest. He's a fairly recent addition to Palm Springs, but has already set up this homophobic group called PSALMS Forever. The conniving little bitch actually showed up on my doorstep demanding I stop living my life of evil and come back to the lord. Little shit must have followed me home. I slammed the door in his face, so the asshole began warning one and all telling them I was a danger and would rape their sons. I called my security service and they sent someone over, but by the time they arrived, he’d left. No one in the fortress was paying him any attention -- the only two neighbors who would were at work, thank heaven -- so he went in search of a better audience. Typical.
I called him and we talked for a while, but after that, nothing till that weird text.

“Why do you think any of this concerns me?” I asked, still trying to sort out my thoughts.

“Why would you think it does not? As your father tells the story, he and your mother despise each other. Is there any other reason she would telephone him if you are not involved?”

Phone call, huh? My mother only barely called people she liked; she preferred the distance of an e-mail or text, so for her to make an overseas call to a man she hated almost as much as I did...well, that was a big deal.

“Neither one’s even tried to get hold of me, and they both know how.” I smirked. “Maybe mom’s asking dad if it's okay for Uncle Owen to broker a peace deal between us. That or she's asking for money.”

Mira rolled her eyes at that. I had to shrug in agreement. Mom was what her mother had referred to as, Independent to a fault. Meaning take care of yourself, and neither ask for nor give favors. So why would she have called him? They’d been divorced for fifteen years, and thanks to Texas' laws Dad had cut her completely out of his fortune -- something she’d never forgiven him for. Oh, she’d wound up with her condo, a cash settlement, and child support, but that ended the moment I was kicked into the street by them. Nearly ten years ago. So far as I knew they hadn’t spoken since.

"How'd you find out she called?" I asked.

"I know your father's assistant's wife, and he has no secrets from her."

I had to chuckle at that. "Don't make sense to me," I said, finishing off my meal. "So far as my mother's concerned, I am not her son. And so far as my father's concerned, I was never born. Catholic and Islamic intolerance, together. That's what I get for bein' queer."
"Faraz does not truly feel such hatred for you. If he did, you would not have been allowed back into the family."

"I think that's more your doing than his."

Mira just smiled, in response.

In DC but not...

My drive from NYC to Baltimore and then Washington was insane -- massive traffic angling to get past road construction that is poorly warned about; drivers who've never heard of blinkers or that the left lane is for passing, not cruising along at 5 mph under the speed limit; a vehicle that is nearly useless when it comes to hauling things. In order to pack everything into this Chevy Traverse, we had to reconfigure the positioning of everything four times and I had to run the passenger seat up as far as it would go. Plus my own seat was set up to the point where my nose was almost touching the steering wheel.

But I made it...and found DC is a very small town in some odd ways. The street speed limits are 25 or 30 mph and photo enforced. A street I needed to be on changes names in the middle of the block, and the only designation is a small sign under another street sign. Traffic circles that do nothing to help traffic but sure do add to the jams. I think I'd take the bus in this town; it's too weird.

I am in a decent Best Western...nice room and good WiFi. I've used it to dig into OT and put more notes into the printout. I will say, 90% of the suggestions made by people who read it are at the very least interesting and worthy of considering. Some I actually like enough to appropriate as my own. It helps that no one's actually said the book is crap...something I've had happen, before.

What's interesting is how I've found typos missed by all the feedback people, just as I'm writing in the notes. And I do need to have a clearer idea of the last few days of the story. I also found I'm unconsciously a bit sexist in my choices of words and phrases. Awareness raised on this point.

I still have more to come in, so who knows what will be commented on, next. Still, I'm beginning to feel like I'm getting close to the end for it.

Finally.

One thing leads to another...

It all started with me adding one line at the very end, when Jake confronts his mother and finds out just how much she despises him for being gay. That led to condensing a couple of characters into one because it was no longer necessary to have them separate. Which led to shifting the final denouement with a couple of characters. Which led to getting rid of another one...and yet it's not really a page one rewrite; it's a clarification...even though the ending to OT is getting overhauled.

This is what happens when you get more feedback that suggests too much is going on. But the more I thought about it the more I felt like I really was throwing everything I could in to keep the story going...including the kitchen sink. Which is now plugged up and needs to be cleaned out with some red-ink Draino.

It doesn't help that I do tend to get preachy. I knew it at the time but felt it necessary. Now? It's over the top. The people who will read this book will pretty much already feel the same way I do about things.

What did help was, this time while I was driving I listened to some of my CDs. I don't have a huge selection but there were several I haven't pulled out in a long time so tossed them in a bag and grabbed whatever as I went. I also brought my full set of Depeche Mode, including 101. And for some reason having to change disks every now and then helped me think about OT. And figure out ways to simplify the action while not dissing the story.

I hope.

Closer to being right...maybe...

I had this idea for a cover just before going to bed so slopped it together, this evening. It's closer to telling what the story is about. Has more mystery to it, but still needs something.

I've printed out a copy of OT and will now go through it and mark in the suggestions I agree with...and mark through parts that I can do without. There is a lot going on in this story, and I think I have one too many possible villains. I also think what I did with one character isn't right. If I adjust it a little, I think it would mean a lot more.

I also had an idea of how to make the explanation a bit clearer, too. It helps that I got another pile of feedback from another person. Some good suggestions...from everyone, so far. And some there's no way I'll accept. But that's part of the game.

I've already reworked the bits I posted earlier this week. Make them smoother and less laden with unnecessary detail. I'm trying to keep my Hemingway cap on for this.

Lean and clean...