Kyle Michel Sullivan's Blog: https://www.myirishnovel.com/, page 237

Seems I have a brain...

Though sometimes one would be hard pressed to prove it. I was wondering because I had a weird moment in the shower when I could not remember the day or year or even my age. Freaked me out, since dementia runs in part of my family. My great-grandmother had it, as did a great-uncle. That might explain my lapses over the last couple years.

But I saw a neurologist, today, to see of there's anything to me having dyslexia or early onset of Alzheimer's...and I scored a perfect 30 on the tests he ran -- meaning I'm damned healthy. You'd never know it to look at me. We're doing an EEG and an MRI of my head to see of anything weird shows up, but he doubts it. Still, I will now have a solid baseline for my brain, in case I do get to where I'm acting weird.

Can't wait to see this bill.

I made some more changes and simplified another moment between Jake and Lemm and another guy, but I haven't gotten rid of a followup confrontation (the one that feels like it's too much). I'll do that, tomorrow.

Happiness will be the day I'm finally satisfied enough with this story to let it go.

NYC is out of control...

Spent the day in NYC under a bright beautiful sky and in freezing temperatures, dealing with people who think the middle of the street is a good place to park, so long as you put your flashers on. And Google Maps thinking taking me into Manhattan so I can get to Brooklyn from JFK is the fastest way to go. It wasn't. Hell, I wouldn't have gone if the damned program hadn't tricked me into driving across the Williamsburg Bridge.

I got out of that mess by ignoring that crazy woman's voice telling me to go left when there are signs saying No Left Turn, doing a loop to the right and returning to the bridge to get back across the East River. Then she wanted to take me back onto the 278 instead of letting me go through a couple of stops lights to get to my destination.

Listen, I like New York, but I don't know if I could live there. What I do know is, I would definitely not have a car. Driving in that town is worse than LA, and the pedestrians have a death wish.

After my one-hundredth WTF!!!!!???? moment, I gave in to the madness and turned on WFUV, which was playing some very odd, voice dominant, atonal jazz-classical-industrial stuff that actually helped me cope. Weird, I know, but I may ask who the artists were. Sometimes weird is good. I've got a CD of Edda's Medieval Icelandic folk melodies and they're very wild.

And led me to another insight into Jake...so thank you NYC for being such a pain.

The above photo was taken from Federal Circle Station after I returned the rental car. I wanted to get to Terminal 5 and eat; I skipped lunch to get this job done. Wound up with an overpriced burger.

Tomorrow, I'm having Indian food.

Rolling stone gathers moss...

I rolled it up and let it down and rolled it up and let it down and finally came to realize I didn't need the second confrontation. So I cut one character's role in the drama back to more like a bystander, and now it's working.

Lemm's who helped me battle it out. Jake was a bit too caught up in the whole thing, so having Matt and Lemm get involved is what completed it. Helps with the timing and the flow, and now that boulder's sitting nicely on top the mountain. Until such time as it decides to tumble down, again.

I used Bernardo Velasco as my visual for Lemm. He's a Brazilian model/actor whose physical symmetry is amazing, and I'm playing with the idea no one can tell which side he's on or when he's telling the truth. He's able to get away with being so opaque because he's so beautiful.

Off to NYC to scope out a job, tomorrow, so while I'm waiting in Terminal 5 for my flight, I'll work more on the story. But I'm finally seeing serious light at the end of the OT tunnel. Hell, I may finish this next draft before the end of the month.

Fingers crossed...

Sisyphus redux...

Sometimes writing is like rollin' that boulder up that hill...then watching it roll back down so you gotta start all over again. Even though it doesn't always go all the way to the bottom. Always.

I got to the end of part 3 of OT but found it wasn't setting up the ending, right. There's supposed to be a big reveal...and it was falling flat. Maybe it's because I know what it is, and it may still come across as a surprise to someone reading for the first time, but I don't feel it.

I went back over it four times, trying to find the key. Dropped some repetition and dismissed a minor plot point that really didn't matter. Added in more discussion of what happened...and while it reads like a real conversation, it circles the issue...which is needed, considering who Jake's trying to pin down...but it just doesn't rise to the occasion. It could also be that I have a really raw, emotional scene before it, and that mitigates the effect. Now I'm thinking I should drop the whole thing or put it later. Except there are things in it that I need to happen, right then.

When I get to that point, it's better if I put it aside for the evening, so I watched the Golden Globes as I ironed...and ironed. It didn't seem to be as much fun as in the past, and I'd only seen The Grand Budapest Hotel out of all the nominees. Glad it won, but it was a very goofy movie. Tomorrow, it's back to the un-rolled stone.

Dunno how much I agree with Camus...but I can't disagree with him.

I miss "Friends"

I used to have all 10 seasons of the show, on DVD, and I'd plug one in whenever I needed a pick-me-up. I never thought the show was exactly great; I got some laughs out of it, but for the most part the jokes were silly. I kept watching through the first season for one reason --

David Schwimmer. I was crushing on him, big-time. He's not classically handsome, nor did he have the body of Adonis, but his geeky-cool-clumbsiness was fun to watch, as was his relationship dance with Rachel. When he got flustered and angry...well, let's just say it's a good thing he was on TV and not somewhere that I could pounce.

By the end of the second season, I was enjoying the show for the relationships between the characters almost as much as watching him as Ross. Only almost.

I met him in a quick passing-by way when I worked at Book Soup. He was on his way to the Emmys and stopped to get some magazines to read in the limo. I guess that's what they were for. I just rang him up and said, "Thursday nights is the only night I watch TV." He did a perfect Ross head-bop as he thanked me.

I did a graphite sketch of his face, not long after, and sent it to him care of his agent. I don't know if he ever got it; I never received a thank you note. Didn't matter. The crush continued throughout the series' run...and I still think he's attractive.

I had to sell my DVDs when I was living in Texas and caring for my mother. I had copies of things that were out of print, like The Stuntman, and other things that were in demand...like Friends and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. But if your car needs work and you ain't got the money, you do what you have to do. Once I get myself righted, again, financially, I'm going to buy the full series. Maybe it comes as a full set, like Buffy... and Battlestar Galactica.

Someday...

Loop-de-loop

I'm caught up in a 16 page section of Owen Taylor that isn't working, just yet. I've rewritten it three times and it's close but still not there. I'd just let it go, but this bit is too important to just toss aside because it sets Jake on the true path. And redoing it also affects aspects of what's already happened.

It's interesting that this happens -- that I come to a spot in the story that needs to be paid more attention to, and I can't go forward till it's done right. Like I've glanced at something deep inside me that is part and parcel of the process and have to figure out how to open that door, again, even though none of it's a conscious process.

A lot of my writing is like that. What was it Michelangelo said when he was asked how he was able to do a statue as beautiful as The David -- something like, "All I did was free it from the stone." I feel a bit like that, at moments like this. I may be seeking one single word to make the whole thing fall into place, and I have to free it from the room in my head that it's hiding in...a bit like Magritte frees heads from bodies...

So...sound crazy enough, yet?

The joy of fountain pens...

I like how they feel in my hand. The way they glide across the paper. The permanence of their ink. Using a fountain pen is like being a serious writer, to me...or an artist, even. I go a bit slower as I put words on paper, get a bit more thoughtful, contemplative. And its sense of absoluteness gives you pause; I mean, you can't get rid of what you've done with a pen like this except by showing how you tried to.

I feel somewhat the same about pencils, when it comes to holding and using one. A #2 is like sketching out thoughts, no matter what you're doing. All preliminary. I'm freer, more open to trying new ideas because if they don't work out, they can be erased. And I prefer the look of a pencil sketch to one done in simple pin and ink (the more elaborate styles using India Ink are the exception; those go both with pen and brush).

None of this is something you can do with a ballpoint pen or anything felt tip, not really. You can approximate the feeling...and I have, sometimes...but those are really more work-a-day stylos good for business and finance, not as a partner in your thought processes, and their aura is commercial and plain.

Problem is, you can't use fountain pens except on good paper; otherwise the ink seeps through and you wind up only able to use one side of the sheet. I avoid writing with one in my journal, for example, because I do that in a composition book. Same for legal pads; one side only. And on checks, you have to wait till the ink dries before you can do anything more with it. I don't remember it always being like this.

When we lived in England, our neighbor had a teenage daughter who would babysit for my folks. And she'd do her math homework with a fountain pen on paper that held it fast. I could watch her for hours. I tried it a few times and quickly returned to the safety of a pencil, because I made a massive mess of the page. But it took a lot of ink for it to seep through to the other side of the sheet.

I have Calligraphy pens, and pens I've used for India ink sketches, but the feel of a reservoir pen nestled between your finger is just...nice.

Doin' that two-step...

The rewrite was going smooth until I came to a section where I had to decide which way to take the story. If I went left, a huge section had to be rewritten...and it felt right as it is. If I went right, I'd have to get rid of a subplot about Tone and his legal troubles...that didn't add anything to the story...so off it went. But it means jumping back to page 90 to rework two chapters. Grr...

BUT...I've cut nearly a thousand words out. That's not a lot when you're over 110,000 words spread across four parts and 550 pages. I've got an epic going here, fer dang sure.

I've been following the police action in Paris after the attack on Charlie Hebdo, a French satirical magazine. Twelve people were killed, including a janitor. And a policeman lying wounded on the pavement was brutally executed. Islamic leaders have condemned the attack, but you wouldn't know it from the American media (and let's just not bother considering Fox to be part of that world, since their only business is to build fear and loathing, not dispense information).

The magazine was threatened numerous times for publishing cartoons showing the prophet, Mohammad, which is thought to be a no-no. The staff stood up to the threats, and I admire them for it. What's interesting is listening to how quickly this is being turned into an anti-Muslim screed. People doing that completely miss one aspect of this -- Charlie Hebdo is a liberal magazine run by people who cared about humanity; they would be horrified at being used to push anti-Muslim hate.

Stephane Charbonnier is among the dead.
I once had a character in a screenplay spout a profundity about how the world was slipping into chaos. I thought I was being clever and cool with that; I didn't think it was really more prophetic. But the last couple years have convinced me we are entering a new dark age, like after the collapse of the Roman Empire. That lasted 500 years.

I pity the generations after me.

California's looking to the future...

The most important kickoff in America today will not happen in Washington, where the 114th Congress begins its work. No, a far more consequential beginning takes place on the other side of the country, in modest Fresno, California, at an invitation-only ceremony on the corner of Tulare and G Streets. There, officials will break ground on America’s biggest and most ambitious infrastructure project of the century, a high-speed rail line linking San Francisco and Los Angeles that, when completed, will run at speeds of 220 miles an hour and move people between those metropolises in around two and a half hours, half the time it takes by car. ...

I got the story from Salon; read the rest, here..it's too-too-kewl.

Back to forward motion...

I got a couple more chapters done on OT, including changing Jake's meeting with Lorinda, Owen's real estate broker/lawyer. Here's their meeting.

--------

She was late, so I got a table and ordered a tea. Man, nothing's weirder than CPK. They had a bar area walled off by glass panels, high tables with chairs, and servers that ask you every five seconds how everything is doing. And everything on the menu has chicken in it, like they should call themselves California Chicken Kitchen.

The second I saw her burst in off the street and head for me, I knew her nickname was Little Miss Golden, her clothes were so bright and business casual, and her hair was bleached and hair-sprayed just right. She looked ready to take you stalking through a hundred homes that day, if you could keep up. Even in casual pumps. And when she got to talking? Dion way-understated her ability to chatter.

Oh, and she just a-dored my uncle.

“He’s like the uncle you always wish you’d had. Like cool and calm and sweet. My mom met him and she’s like, ‘You know what a Dutch Uncle is? That’s Owen.’ But I didn’t know what a Dutch uncle is, so I’m all, ‘Mom, what do you mean?’ And she’s like, ‘He’s practical, direct, outspoken, stubborn, blunt, well-organized, and thinks he’s always right.’ And I’m like, wow, that’s him. Who knew? And when I told him she’d said that, he laughed for like half an hour, he thought it was so cute.”

She paused long enough to take a bite of her salad, so I hopped in with, “Did you handle all of his real estate deals?”

“Oh, no, I only took over two years ago, from the guy who was doing it because he and Owen didn’t get along, but there hasn’t been much for me to do except make sure he like keeps up on his taxes, though I did handle some legal stuff. Like when he wanted to buy that condo. We tried like crazy to work it out but the bank wouldn’t say yes, and once word gets around everybody’s like ‘No, I don’t think so,’ and you can't get them to change their minds not matter what you do, so don't even try.”

“When was this?”

“About a year ago, maybe more, maybe less. Time gets away from you so fast. Like I thought today was Friday and I’d have a day to catch up but it’s not, so I’m scrambling to make all my appointments and I’m like wondering why I set so many up, but some of them look good, so I can’t say no. Can I?”

Another breath. Another bite of salad. Whooh.

“I know my uncle owned four of the townhouses and an apartment complex. Was there any other property?”

“I think so, but it wouldn’t be stuff that I handled. It’s like I think there was some property he bought, like some kind of partnership under Baskin and Baskin, with some other people and – oh, they’re not like the ice cream place, where you get all those flavors and cones. Like Baskin Robbins. No, these guys’re like really serious lawyers, so they'd handle anything he’d partnered with people on, so you ought to talk to them. But you have to wait till Monday. They’re big enough to get weekends off -- of course. I’m like scrambling to find time to do my nails, and they really do need a touchup.”

“But he called you about a lawyer -- .”

“Oh, yeah, Scott, oh, yeah -- he said he’d deal with it and I guess he did because I like didn't hear anything more about it, after that, but then that's just like Owen to get things done and taken care of without telling you. Back when we were planning to buy another townhouse, he had some illegals come in and start painting it before the bank said okay, like it's nothing to even think about.”

"Illegals?"

"Couple of Mexican guys. Brothers, I think. They looked alike, but one was way too young for me, but the other one -- makes you want to break the law."

Another bite. A moment of silence, broken by me before it was broken by her. "Uh ...break the law, how?"

She leaned close to whisper, "Oh, you can't sleep with an illegal guy. People might think you mean it, and think you like think it's okay that he's here."

"But...what if he's a citizen?"

"But he was like Mexican."

"California used to be part of Mexico."

"Then why don't the cities have Mexican names?"

Okay, that so startled me, I went blank for a second. I covered it by asking, “What...what...what about this Scott-guy?”

“Baskin. The old man’s grandson. He does rock climbing and he is like so much. Ooh. With him, nothing would be illegal. Not one thing. Nothing.” She actually fanned herself. “But he and Owen didn't get along, so Owen went his own way. Just like a Dutch Uncle. I need to call him and find out what he’s been up to. Oh, wait, he like ran off, right, a couple months ago? Some legal thing, I think. Oh, and it’s time to talk about property taxes. Like, so quick. Ugh. He better hurry back. Riverside doesn’t like give you any leeway.”

Two minutes later, she was on her own way to her latest appointment, leaving behind a third of her salad and half her tea. I was left to catch my breath and pay the bill.