Kyle Michel Sullivan's Blog: https://www.myirishnovel.com/, page 234
April 17, 2015
Hallelujah
A very second-rate version of Leonard Cohen's song is playing on KCRW, right now. It's one of the most beautiful ever written and does NOT need to be oversold. In fact, it's hurt if you take it into high emotion. This is Jeff Buckley's rendition...but the loveliest I ever heard was all but whispered, throughout. Broke my heart, it did.
"Hallelujah"
Well I heard there was a secret chord
That David played and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music do you
Well it goes like this:
The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing HallelujahWell your faith was strong but you needed proofYou saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrough ya
She tied you to her kitchen chair
She broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah...
Baby I've been here before
I've seen this room and I've walked this floor (you know)
I used to live alone before I knew ya
And I've seen your flag on the marble arch
And love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah...
There was a time when you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show that to me do ya
But remember when I moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah...
Maybe there's a God above
But all I've ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya
And it's not a cry that you hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah...
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah...
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah
April 16, 2015
Progress proceeds, potentially pleasing...
MFD is enjoying its shift to London's east side. It's settled in the Royal Docks area, where London's City Airport now stands along with some massive business development, and I've worked in some political comment. The lead is now named Ben Forrier and he's a Protestant from Belfast, who married a Catholic woman and is out for revenge over the murder of both her and his parents.
It's funny, but the image I have in my head for Ben is Ben Cohen, once a British rugby star and now a straight ally of gay rights and no-bullying. He's in his 30s, while my Ben is still mid-20s, but I like the look of him for the character. He seems like he can handle himself.
I've got nearly 40 pages done and think I'll have a good draft done, this weekend. But what's best is, it's gotten me past the drought that was drying out my creative drive. I have a couple people in the UK film industry who are open to considering it so long as it won't cost 10 million pounds to make, so the changes I'm making are taking that into account.
I've trimmed back the number of locations, already, and simplified the through line, up to this point. Here's hoping it'll work out all the way through.
Yeah...still hoping...
It's funny, but the image I have in my head for Ben is Ben Cohen, once a British rugby star and now a straight ally of gay rights and no-bullying. He's in his 30s, while my Ben is still mid-20s, but I like the look of him for the character. He seems like he can handle himself.I've got nearly 40 pages done and think I'll have a good draft done, this weekend. But what's best is, it's gotten me past the drought that was drying out my creative drive. I have a couple people in the UK film industry who are open to considering it so long as it won't cost 10 million pounds to make, so the changes I'm making are taking that into account.
I've trimmed back the number of locations, already, and simplified the through line, up to this point. Here's hoping it'll work out all the way through.
Yeah...still hoping...
April 15, 2015
Rebuilding...
I did some writing, today. A script I wrote that was set in LA is being shifted to London, and it fits pretty well there, so far. It's a bit of a cheat, getting back to work this way...but anything that breaks the logjam of apathy is good, I guess.
Doesn't hurt that the day job is beginning to finally gear down, a little. Most of the dealers are home or en route, and I'm more rested, now. I actually got 7 hours sleep, last night, and may do that tonight. Normally I'm working off 6 and make it up on the weekends.
I've also decided to sit out the whole Presidential campaign, this time. Too many twerps are already saying that if I don't vote for Hillary Clinton, that's the same as voting for a Republican. Which only serves to piss me off. One woman on facebook has even started calling people like me, who question handing HRC the nomination, Non-Democratic. The meaning behind that snotty phrase is too damned obvious, even though she insists all she means is we're not Democrats.
Man, when the Left Wing Know-It-Alls starts using the same bullshit to excuse their insults as the Right Wing Assholes, it's time to let it go. I've got other things to worry about, stuff more immediate than an election that's a year and a half away. I've said my piece; let other people spit and snarl. I'll focus my bile and anger on my writing.
Wonder if that'll help the stories any.
Doesn't hurt that the day job is beginning to finally gear down, a little. Most of the dealers are home or en route, and I'm more rested, now. I actually got 7 hours sleep, last night, and may do that tonight. Normally I'm working off 6 and make it up on the weekends.
I've also decided to sit out the whole Presidential campaign, this time. Too many twerps are already saying that if I don't vote for Hillary Clinton, that's the same as voting for a Republican. Which only serves to piss me off. One woman on facebook has even started calling people like me, who question handing HRC the nomination, Non-Democratic. The meaning behind that snotty phrase is too damned obvious, even though she insists all she means is we're not Democrats.
Man, when the Left Wing Know-It-Alls starts using the same bullshit to excuse their insults as the Right Wing Assholes, it's time to let it go. I've got other things to worry about, stuff more immediate than an election that's a year and a half away. I've said my piece; let other people spit and snarl. I'll focus my bile and anger on my writing.
Wonder if that'll help the stories any.
April 14, 2015
I almost wrote, today...
One of my rules is, I have to write something at least once a day. Preferably on a book or script, but something. Even if it's just in a journal or notes for the story or something. But it's been over a week since I've done anything...and today was the first time I even began to notice it.
Normally, if I don't scribble at least something down, I go into a sort of withdrawal. But I've coasted through this week of artistic inactivity. Maybe it's because I was tired. My whole rhythm was thrown off for several days, getting up at 6:30 or 7am and working nearly non-stop at packing books. I worked 11 hours on Thursday, with only a salad for lunch. Then I drove home on Friday but didn't get in till nearly 8pm thanks to Toronto traffic (they're trying to out-do LA and doing a damn good job of it). Then I got up at 6am Saturday morning to hop down to NYC to look at another massive packing job, did a hell of a lot of walking around both the book fair and to and from the job's site, and I didn't get home till 1:30 the next morning. I'd like to think that's all it is.
But in the past when I've done stretches like that, I'd whine about it and then do a little something on a story. Even then, I needed to. Like a drunk needs a drink or a junkie a fix. Not this time. Instead, I've watched the first 12 episodes of Friends and the first 3 hours of Battlestar Galactica...and that's it.
Oh, I did get nudged a little. Don't even know by whom in which story. I sent off an e-mail to an associate DA in Riverside for some info for The Vanishing of Owen Taylor, but I can't say that was it. Nor was it Carli's Kills or Underground Guy, despite thinking Carli'd be fun to take to the extreme and Dev's drifting close to crazy-as-hell. At least, I can't say for sure. I had another story I was working on, once, called Marked for Death; it sort of waved at me. Only nothing is slamming my head against the wall or brightening my ideas up or giving me the joy of putting words together.
All I know with any certainty is, I don't really feel the withdrawal symptoms of not writing, yet...and that scares me, a little.
Normally, if I don't scribble at least something down, I go into a sort of withdrawal. But I've coasted through this week of artistic inactivity. Maybe it's because I was tired. My whole rhythm was thrown off for several days, getting up at 6:30 or 7am and working nearly non-stop at packing books. I worked 11 hours on Thursday, with only a salad for lunch. Then I drove home on Friday but didn't get in till nearly 8pm thanks to Toronto traffic (they're trying to out-do LA and doing a damn good job of it). Then I got up at 6am Saturday morning to hop down to NYC to look at another massive packing job, did a hell of a lot of walking around both the book fair and to and from the job's site, and I didn't get home till 1:30 the next morning. I'd like to think that's all it is.
But in the past when I've done stretches like that, I'd whine about it and then do a little something on a story. Even then, I needed to. Like a drunk needs a drink or a junkie a fix. Not this time. Instead, I've watched the first 12 episodes of Friends and the first 3 hours of Battlestar Galactica...and that's it.
Oh, I did get nudged a little. Don't even know by whom in which story. I sent off an e-mail to an associate DA in Riverside for some info for The Vanishing of Owen Taylor, but I can't say that was it. Nor was it Carli's Kills or Underground Guy, despite thinking Carli'd be fun to take to the extreme and Dev's drifting close to crazy-as-hell. At least, I can't say for sure. I had another story I was working on, once, called Marked for Death; it sort of waved at me. Only nothing is slamming my head against the wall or brightening my ideas up or giving me the joy of putting words together.
All I know with any certainty is, I don't really feel the withdrawal symptoms of not writing, yet...and that scares me, a little.
April 11, 2015
Almost have my brain back...
I don't remember a great deal about the last three days except I worked them like crazy. I did a 4-day packing job in just over 2, not including driving to and from the Toronto area. It was one of those jobs where you're told to expect a minimal amount of work and suddenly it nearly quadruples in size...oh, and within the same time frame, OK? I got it done -- 73 boxes of books and 3 boxes of documents, but I'm not happy with the job I did.
In order to finish in time, I cut out two steps in my packing process. Normally, I wrap each book in tissue then stack them, by size, to fit a 16x14x12 inch box, lay bits of bubble between the books for cushioning and wrap them as a bundle, in bubble wrap. Then there's an inch of space on all sides, so the bundle of books is, effectively, floating in the center of the box surrounded by crumbled paper. So far as I know, I've never had a book show up damaged.
This time, however, I wrapped a couple books together in single sheets of tissue, and I didn't put bubble in-between the books unless it was really needed. They're still protected, but not as well as they should be. But here's the funny part -- the cataloguer who was picking the books whined that I was overpacking them. They didn't need to be tissue-wrapped or have so much padding around them. It actually slowed me down, doing it that way, and when he was gone I got back up to speed.
Today, I flew down to NYC to look at a collection that's even larger...and I'm going to be precise in what I will and will not do. But this is for a client who understands and doesn't whine about me overdoing it. I also spent some time at the NY Book Fair and saw some old friends and one British dealer I've got a major crush on.
I'm now at Jet Blue's Terminal 5 and I'm exhausted; cannot wait to get home and sleep all day, Sunday.
In order to finish in time, I cut out two steps in my packing process. Normally, I wrap each book in tissue then stack them, by size, to fit a 16x14x12 inch box, lay bits of bubble between the books for cushioning and wrap them as a bundle, in bubble wrap. Then there's an inch of space on all sides, so the bundle of books is, effectively, floating in the center of the box surrounded by crumbled paper. So far as I know, I've never had a book show up damaged.
This time, however, I wrapped a couple books together in single sheets of tissue, and I didn't put bubble in-between the books unless it was really needed. They're still protected, but not as well as they should be. But here's the funny part -- the cataloguer who was picking the books whined that I was overpacking them. They didn't need to be tissue-wrapped or have so much padding around them. It actually slowed me down, doing it that way, and when he was gone I got back up to speed.
Today, I flew down to NYC to look at a collection that's even larger...and I'm going to be precise in what I will and will not do. But this is for a client who understands and doesn't whine about me overdoing it. I also spent some time at the NY Book Fair and saw some old friends and one British dealer I've got a major crush on.
I'm now at Jet Blue's Terminal 5 and I'm exhausted; cannot wait to get home and sleep all day, Sunday.
April 6, 2015
April 5, 2015
I hate logic...
I think it was Hitchcock who once said that logic was for small-minded people, but I can't find that quote. However...he never had to deal with a story that takes you places that look great until you ask yourself one simple question...and then the whole thing falls apart. Well, not the whole thing; just a subplot that I really liked but makes no sense, now that I'm thinking about it. Dammit.
That's why thinking is a dangerous pastime; it ruins the worlds you build in your mind. My best worlds come from turmoil and anger and chaos, because those moments clear away the crap I'm focused on and let me find clarity. Still, I've had moments torn away from me in OT and CK because logic must prevail, and now it's happened again. I followed a character to a point and thought, "This is great." Then a light popped on and I saw it was amazingly stupid.
I hate that in other work. Like Mystic River -- the opening bit where a boy is kidnapped and sexually assaulted by a couple of priests; I didn't believe how it happened. Two men drive up in a car, put the kid in the back seat and drive away with him? In full view of witnesses? And then when he escaped with his tee-shirt still a pristine white, after days of abuse? It was all downhill from there, for me.
I can get weird about some of the dumbest things -- like changing a character's nickname because at a critical juncture in the story, it would sound dumb. Like Meryl Streep's pronunciation of Stingo in Sophie's Choice. Sting-go. It's comical at moments not meant to be funny. Of course, I didn't like that movie, either, but for entirely different reasons.
So today I slammed into a wall and used my ironing to excuse me watching the opening of the reboot of Battlestar Galactica. It was made 12 years ago for SyFy and still holds up so damn well, even against my glowing memory of it. This was a hard-hitting series, and is still relevant in too damn many ways. That the Emmys ignored it was a travesty.
Of course, it didn't hurt that Jamie Bamber did that famous towel scene, a few episodes in...
That's why thinking is a dangerous pastime; it ruins the worlds you build in your mind. My best worlds come from turmoil and anger and chaos, because those moments clear away the crap I'm focused on and let me find clarity. Still, I've had moments torn away from me in OT and CK because logic must prevail, and now it's happened again. I followed a character to a point and thought, "This is great." Then a light popped on and I saw it was amazingly stupid.
I hate that in other work. Like Mystic River -- the opening bit where a boy is kidnapped and sexually assaulted by a couple of priests; I didn't believe how it happened. Two men drive up in a car, put the kid in the back seat and drive away with him? In full view of witnesses? And then when he escaped with his tee-shirt still a pristine white, after days of abuse? It was all downhill from there, for me.
I can get weird about some of the dumbest things -- like changing a character's nickname because at a critical juncture in the story, it would sound dumb. Like Meryl Streep's pronunciation of Stingo in Sophie's Choice. Sting-go. It's comical at moments not meant to be funny. Of course, I didn't like that movie, either, but for entirely different reasons.
So today I slammed into a wall and used my ironing to excuse me watching the opening of the reboot of Battlestar Galactica. It was made 12 years ago for SyFy and still holds up so damn well, even against my glowing memory of it. This was a hard-hitting series, and is still relevant in too damn many ways. That the Emmys ignored it was a travesty.Of course, it didn't hurt that Jamie Bamber did that famous towel scene, a few episodes in...
April 4, 2015
Mighty Minsky is no Mouse...
I've been watching some of Alex Minsky's snippets and they're fun. Here's his latest.
Alex was hit by an IED in Afghanistan and lost his right leg, below the knee. The tattoos were started to cover the scars from burns and such. I follow him on facebook and use these videos to take me out of myself and back into the understanding that my crap is middling compared to many others'.
His story also pisses me off even more at the GOP, who are so eager to send more men like him into battle (and women) just so they can keep Obama for any sort of success. Evil cowardly people elected by evil cowardly people.
But Alex...he's my hero, and he's become Zeke, to me, in Carli's Kills.
Alex was hit by an IED in Afghanistan and lost his right leg, below the knee. The tattoos were started to cover the scars from burns and such. I follow him on facebook and use these videos to take me out of myself and back into the understanding that my crap is middling compared to many others'.
His story also pisses me off even more at the GOP, who are so eager to send more men like him into battle (and women) just so they can keep Obama for any sort of success. Evil cowardly people elected by evil cowardly people.
But Alex...he's my hero, and he's become Zeke, to me, in Carli's Kills.
April 3, 2015
Trigger pulled...
I'm a mess, right now. As all writers are, once in a while. I guess. And it's all due to a phone call from one of my cousins. It's not the subject of the call, so much -- that my aunt was in the hospital for cancer surgery; it's that she was already coming home and everything looked good. In fact, she's probably home now.
Nice to know, right? But it jolted me back to when I lost that side of the family. In September 1987. I'd made plans to visit my sister in San Diego and mentioned them to that same aunt, and she talked me into changing my trip to come up to see her for a few days then go on to California. It sounded important, so I did. This was back when you could change your ticket without hundreds of dollars in penalties.
Well...turned out that trip was an ambush. I was still in the closet, back then, but my cousins had been told I was gay by someone we all knew, and they wanted to know if I had AIDS. I spent an extra $300 in plane fare so they could look in my eyes as I told them I was HIV neg. Some of them didn't believe me, anyway, and the whole atmosphere was so hideous, I came close to walking to the airport so I could leave. Which would've taken a while; it was twenty miles away.
I'd always thought of myself as being part of their family. I found out that I never was, really. And after I left, they stopped contacting me unless someone died. Like when the one cousin who was still cool about me killed herself. I was in Houston, and they let me know the day before her funeral. I was told that it wasn't necessary for me to come. Same message when my uncle died.
I didn't see them, again, until after my mother was buried. I visited my aunt to give her some photos and things. In truth, the only one I wanted to see was her, but she invited the whole family and their now-grown kids. They acted like nothing had ever happened and we ate homemade pizza and I left as soon as I could because I was getting sick from holding in my hurt and anger. I realized that in some things, I have the memory of an elephant, especially as regards being injured.
So once again I'm told about something important after the fact. Don't come. Not really necessary. And then, to cap it off, he said goodbye with the the nice, casual, stand-offish phrase of, "my friend." Not Cuz, like he used to call me. Or Ky. Just something polite. All but telling me he felt he had to let me know my aunt was ill, but now his duty was done.
My aunt is 85 years old. When she's gone, that side of the family will be dead to me. And I will not be sorry.
What a funny tragedy this would make.
Nice to know, right? But it jolted me back to when I lost that side of the family. In September 1987. I'd made plans to visit my sister in San Diego and mentioned them to that same aunt, and she talked me into changing my trip to come up to see her for a few days then go on to California. It sounded important, so I did. This was back when you could change your ticket without hundreds of dollars in penalties.
Well...turned out that trip was an ambush. I was still in the closet, back then, but my cousins had been told I was gay by someone we all knew, and they wanted to know if I had AIDS. I spent an extra $300 in plane fare so they could look in my eyes as I told them I was HIV neg. Some of them didn't believe me, anyway, and the whole atmosphere was so hideous, I came close to walking to the airport so I could leave. Which would've taken a while; it was twenty miles away.
I'd always thought of myself as being part of their family. I found out that I never was, really. And after I left, they stopped contacting me unless someone died. Like when the one cousin who was still cool about me killed herself. I was in Houston, and they let me know the day before her funeral. I was told that it wasn't necessary for me to come. Same message when my uncle died.
I didn't see them, again, until after my mother was buried. I visited my aunt to give her some photos and things. In truth, the only one I wanted to see was her, but she invited the whole family and their now-grown kids. They acted like nothing had ever happened and we ate homemade pizza and I left as soon as I could because I was getting sick from holding in my hurt and anger. I realized that in some things, I have the memory of an elephant, especially as regards being injured.
So once again I'm told about something important after the fact. Don't come. Not really necessary. And then, to cap it off, he said goodbye with the the nice, casual, stand-offish phrase of, "my friend." Not Cuz, like he used to call me. Or Ky. Just something polite. All but telling me he felt he had to let me know my aunt was ill, but now his duty was done.
My aunt is 85 years old. When she's gone, that side of the family will be dead to me. And I will not be sorry.
What a funny tragedy this would make.
Stealing Paul Krugman's Blog Post
This is one of today's posts, and he's getting right at the heart of what today's GOP is all about -- behaving like a bunch of bullies out to cause as much destruction as possible because it's fun.
John Galt Hates Ben Bernanke
Ah: I see that there was a Twitter exchange among Brad DeLong, James Pethokoukis, and others over why Republicans don’t acknowledge that Ben Bernanke helped the economy, and claim credit. Pethokoukis — who presumably gets to talk to quite a few Republicans from his perch at AEI — offers a fairly amazing explanation:
B/c many view BB as enabling Obama’s spending and artificially propping up debt-heavy economy in need of Mellon-esque liquidation
Yep: that dastardly Bernanke was preventing us from having a financial crisis, curse him.
Actually, there’s a lot of evidence that this was an important part of the story. As I pointed out a couple of months ago, Paul Ryan and John Taylor went all-out conspiracy theory on the Bernanke Fed, claiming that its efforts were not about trying to fulfill its mandate, but rather that
This looks an awful lot like an attempt to bail out fiscal policy, and such attempts call the Fed’s independence into question.
Basically, leading Republicans didn’t just expect a disaster, they wanted one — and they were furious at Bernanke for, as they saw it, heading off the crisis they hoped to see. It’s a pretty awesome position to take. But it makes a lot of sense when you consider where these people were coming from.
After all, what is Atlas Shrugged really about? Leave aside the endless speeches and bad sex scenes. What you’re left with is the tale of how a group of plutocrats overthrow a democratically elected government with a campaign of economic sabotage.
Look, I know it sounds harsh to say that Republicans opposed QE in large part out of fear that it would work, and deliver a success to a president they hated. I mean, the next thing you know I’ll be accusing them of crazy things they would never do, like deliberately trying to undermine delicate nuclear negotiations. Oh, wait.
John Galt Hates Ben Bernanke
Ah: I see that there was a Twitter exchange among Brad DeLong, James Pethokoukis, and others over why Republicans don’t acknowledge that Ben Bernanke helped the economy, and claim credit. Pethokoukis — who presumably gets to talk to quite a few Republicans from his perch at AEI — offers a fairly amazing explanation:
B/c many view BB as enabling Obama’s spending and artificially propping up debt-heavy economy in need of Mellon-esque liquidation
Yep: that dastardly Bernanke was preventing us from having a financial crisis, curse him.
Actually, there’s a lot of evidence that this was an important part of the story. As I pointed out a couple of months ago, Paul Ryan and John Taylor went all-out conspiracy theory on the Bernanke Fed, claiming that its efforts were not about trying to fulfill its mandate, but rather that
This looks an awful lot like an attempt to bail out fiscal policy, and such attempts call the Fed’s independence into question.
Basically, leading Republicans didn’t just expect a disaster, they wanted one — and they were furious at Bernanke for, as they saw it, heading off the crisis they hoped to see. It’s a pretty awesome position to take. But it makes a lot of sense when you consider where these people were coming from.
After all, what is Atlas Shrugged really about? Leave aside the endless speeches and bad sex scenes. What you’re left with is the tale of how a group of plutocrats overthrow a democratically elected government with a campaign of economic sabotage.
Look, I know it sounds harsh to say that Republicans opposed QE in large part out of fear that it would work, and deliver a success to a president they hated. I mean, the next thing you know I’ll be accusing them of crazy things they would never do, like deliberately trying to undermine delicate nuclear negotiations. Oh, wait.
