Kyle Michel Sullivan's Blog: https://www.myirishnovel.com/, page 244

Kick out the old; Ring in the new....

Or something like that. I dunno. I'm not really feeling the end of the year or beginning of a new one, except I'll be cleaning my apartment and doing laundry, tomorrow, to have everything ready for the beginning of the new year. My exciting time today? Washing the tub. Coolness defines me.

I did more work on OT. Almost through the first half of the book, and clarifying is working in ways unexpected on the story. I chopped out a couple of rambling contemplations of Jake's because with this new excising of adjectives, I'm finding I did entire paragraphs that were little more than that -- modifiers expounding on a thought that really had no business being in the story except to reiterate something that's being proven without reiteration. Removal was required.

It's still a long book, but the characters are defining themselves in ways I greatly appreciate -- not just dialogue or actions the attitudes and intentions...and sneakinesses (as regards Tone's self-certainty). Even minor characters are taking on lives of their own and backgrounds at odds with their perceived personas.

Who knows? I may actually get the fool thing done and in a decent shape. Wouldn't that be a shock, after so damned long at it?

I'm thinking of setting up an IMDb Pro account to get the info I need on producers, directors and actors -- like Aidan Turner. He'd be perfect as Thomas in Darian's Point, and I think he'd go for the story. I just need to work my way up to it...and update my formatting on DP. It's a bit on the antiquated side.

Sort of like me...

Warning -- NSFW post...

I ran across this on a friend's Tumbler blog, and it kick started a memory process that I'm still working through. I first started realizing I was gay back in the 70s, in Texas. This was when it was illegal for even married straight couples to have sex in anything but the missionary position. You could get sent to jail for up to a year. And if you were queer? you'd be lucky if that's all that happened.
Funny thing is, times were a lot freer in many ways. I think I wound up with more guys who self-identified as straight than fellow gays. And it could be just as easy as presented in these gifs. It was the sexual revolution and everyone was trying out new things. Didn't hurt I was slim and good-looking.

There was one occasion, when I was a sophomore in college, I was working as a host at a restaurant (I hated even the idea of waiting tables, though I'd do it in a pinch). We all had to wear a tux, it was that kind of establishment. Extreme decorum.

One night, I walked into the kitchen and heard one of the waiters bragging to the woman who fixed the drinks that he he was 10 inches long and could go all night. These days, that would be a sexual harassment lawsuit; she just rolled her eyes and returned to the bar. I shook my head at him, trying not to laugh. He snorted at me, "I am, and I'm gonna get her. Watch." He was a good-looking guy, so I figured it was possible.

Took him a few weeks, but he did it. Then she started being really nice to him, getting his drink orders done first, making sure he had the best and freshest coffees...and he started treating her like crap...like he owned her. A week later, I was closing up and she was finishing setup for the next day, and we got to talking...and she confirmed it. And stupid little Kyle just had to ask, "Is he really that big?"

She shrugged. "I couldn't tell you. I never saw it." And she started weeping. I felt like shit.

We had a couple of shots and talked about anything but him, and she settled down and went home. And I decided I was going to find out, for myself. Next time he got to bragging, I quietly goaded him into a bet -- $50 said he was exaggerating. And I made sure none of the other waiters heard me doing it. He thought I was joking. But after a couple more nights, the money got his interest and he agreed to prove it.

He came over to my place, a little made-over garage behind an old house...and I lost $50. But...one thing led to another...and let's just say that's the closest I ever came to paying for sex. And he came back for seconds, no money involved, this time, because he couldn't believe I'd made it feel so good.

Now maybe he was a closet case, but he still wound up married (not to our co-worker but some mean bitch from the West Side, who I think was older than him), and with a bunch of kids and a belly. Last I heard, he was driving a delivery truck. My feeling is, he got spooked by how much he enjoyed sex with another guy and got married to the first woman who'd have him. I wasn't working at that restaurant, anymore, so I couldn't ask the woman if he'd asked her...but I'm pretty sure if he had, she'd have punched him.

He was not my only "straight" guy, not by a long shot. But then AIDS happened and sex became politicized, and now there are too many people who think if a guy does it with another guy one time, he's queer. It's ludicrous. As if a gay man having sex with a woman, one time, makes him straight. I don't see those times as more simple; just more adult.

Too bad the puritans at both ends of the spectrum took over.

Picky...

I'm reading a book of short mysteries with gay themes or references, and so far I've been anything but impressed. I just finished one that was so obviously a rip-off of Deathtrap, I couldn't believe it got published. I guess making the intended victim a flaming queen as opposed to a woman with a heart condition or bisexual writer, and the killer a vaguely homophobic straight man instead of a sociopath is all the difference it takes.

I'm probably being too harsh. These stories were all written in the 80s, when being gay was akin to being Typhoid Mary for the AIDS epidemic. I've read other books of the time, and they tend to be circumspect in a lot of things, whereas now a lot of it's in your face. But I find it interesting that so far none of them have addressed that. At all.

Of course, I only make passing mention of it in my work. References to condoms and testing and how ex-cons are taking it home and infecting their wives and girlfriends. I think the harshest comment I make is Curt refusing to think he could be HIV positive, in HTRASG, as he's about to rape a man. But it's not invisible; it's just a fact of life.

Oh, well...I'm through 170 pages of 500+ in my new slash and mend. I know I'm missing some adjectives that could be removed, but I'm going through the story, once more, to do a cleanup and then I'll be asking for feedback.

Something that's happened during my re-styling is Jake facing the fact that his uncle did not want him to come out to Palm Springs after he was disowned by his parents. Never even suggested it as a refuge from the state's homophobia. That's something he's itching to address, and the reasons for it...I dunno if they work yet. Won't know till the end of the story, when all is revealed.

If I ever get there...

Gratuitous Aidan Turner Post...

All as Jake, the invincible...

Just because I feel like it...

Disruptions...

I've had trouble getting to sleep, the last couple of days, which is unusual for me. Normally, the second my head hits the pillow...I'm gone. But I didn't get lost in slumber till after 4am, this morning, and woke, again, at 6am then crashed and slept till 1pm. NOT good.

I don't know what's going on, but most of it boils down to me not being able to shut my mind down. And none of my usual tricks work -- like naming all the Best Actor Oscar winners from 1928 on. That's the same as counting sheep, to me. So tonight I'm shutting down the writing early and sitting in a hot bath.

I'm also deliberately rewriting just a few chapters at a time on OT. That way I don't get carried away with the sweep of it, so easily. And by "sweep" what I mean is the flow of the story. It's sneaky how, when I'm rewriting, I get lost in trying to tell the story better but lose sight of how I'm doing that. I can already tell by the end of the second chapter that I'm having problems eliminating adjectives and "ing" words and have to refocus. So...I now have it taped to my laptop -- kill the bastards.

Hopefully, I'll pay attention.

Where I live...

This is an aerial view of Buffalo. I took it as I was headed for Chicago, at the beginning of the month. Downtown is in the lower right quarter, facing Lake Erie. Then comes the Niagara River encircling Grand Island, and in the upper left quarter you can almost make out Niagara Falls. Beyond that is Lake Ontario. I live sort of dead center in the right half of the photo.

I've been here going on 5 years, and still don't know that much about the area. I just re-upped my lease for another year, so figure maybe I should be learning more; it's got a lot of history. I mean, this is where the Erie Canal ended, some of which I've seen. It used to be the richest city in the country, thanks to industry and trade. Some of the homes that still survive here are flat out magnificent.

But much of the city is really very sad. It's been left behind because it did not adapt to the changing times, and is now struggling to catch up. Medical technology seems to be taking hold, thanks to a couple of strong research universities, and I've begun to recognize there's a strong theater movement in the city...so not all is hopeless. I just need to let myself take the time to investigate these things.

But I keep myself busy at home, writing and plotting and researching. I rarely go out. I think I'm trying to make up for all the time I wasted, when I was younger...when I was in college. I'd already been studying Hitchcock's method of filmmaking; I'd happened onto Truffaut's series of interviews with him in a bookstore and that was all one really needed to know to get started. Plus, I had a career going as an artist.

If I'd had my brain in gear, I'd have moved out to LA to live with my father instead of hitting classes, and learned how film worked by doing it. Instead, I hid in the idea I had to learn first and do later. A form of avoidance, really. But all I really learned was technology, not the ability to get something done, which is really more important.

Guess that's where I got left behind, because back then I couldn't see that changing my life was the way to go.

More Jake Inspiration...

When I'd written as much as I could, today, I went looking for another rendition of Jake. I found a couple of actors from Iran who were close, but Aidan Turner still owns my image of him. Hair's a bit too long, and Jake's got a goatee, not just scruff...but it's the eyes and the attitude that nail it shut. Below is the only other guy who came close -- Dominic Rains, who was born in Tehran.


Thing is, he seems soft, for Jake. Bendable. Even a bit...I dunno...needy. Blank. He may be none of those things when he's acting in front of a camera...but that's how he hits me.

Whereas, Aidan's got the butch factor down, pat, even though he's nowhere near as built as this guy. Probably because he's Irish. They know betrayal and pain; it's in their blood...their DNA. The Irish may understand fear, but they also know how to stand their ground in the face of it. If they hadn't, they'd still be owned by England. Instead, they started the crumbling of the Empire.
I think that's what I see in Aidan's eyes and not in Dominic's -- the long cold line of history.

Damn the adjectives, full speed ahead!

Adjectives are not a Jake thing; Tone's the one who likes to have words for playing and messing around with so as to build a smokescreen for his own psychoses. Jake's got meat and potatoes grammar. No Hollandaise, caramelized carrots, or Cous-cous for him. Fancy fixin's are anything but his raison d'etre.

That's why I've been struggling to get Jake's tone right. I'll think I've got it, but then I go back and read and it's not  there, yet. It's soft and smooth and easy...and doesn't read honest. But then I got to an exchange between Jake and Tone, where they almost come to blows, and I finally, finally, finally caught on to how their cadence was too similar. Jake's using fouler language, sure...but he's still got the careful lead-ins and adjectives. I cut them, and it worked.

So...now that's permeated through my brain, I returned to page one of OT to hunt down and ferret out all said adjectives I could. And words ending in -ing. Because I like adjectives and words that end in -ing, just like Antony does. I love the soft lead-ins to sentences and casual manner of conversation that's a cut above the crass, even as I'm describing something horrific. And some of the things Antony does are exactly that.

Perhaps it's taken the reality of what I'm aiming for in this story a bit too long to settle on my brain...but today I think it finally melted in and washed away the crap. A new flavor has emerged, like green peanut brittle with jalapeno in it -- sweet but with a real bite. That's how I like to make my Guacamole: smooth going over the tongue, and then sneaking around to grab you by the throat. That's how The Vanishing of Owen Taylor should be.

I now see me as the Silver Fox...and if you don't, well...here's my new image, just to show you what I'm like. Even though my eyes are blue. And I really fit the look of a red fox more than a black one. But still...

Yap! Yip! Yrrr! Snap! Snarl...

Born Yesterday a la Tired Old Queen at the Movies...

You can also see where Jules Dassin got some of his inspiration for Never on a Sunday...

Family is great...

...so long as they live thousands of miles away and you can talk to them on the phone whenever you like. Which is what I do, and I'm better for it. I'm not exactly a gregarious person, and having to make nice with anybody for an extended period grates on me. I guess that makes me a curmudgeon...or a Scrooge. Can't decide which.

But having all day Christmas to myself is just wonderful. I sent no cards, this year. I gave no gifts. I cancelled my trip to San Antonio because I was just plain exhausted. For once I'm not hundreds of dollars in the hole now the day is almost done. Feels a LOT better.

I slept till noon then worked some on OT and watched Born Yesterday to remind myself how comedy and brute drama can mingle. Judy Holliday's character gets belittled and pushed around, culminating with her being viciously slapped around, yet she still spits out a couple of funny lines. It's a bit of a set-up movie -- dumb blond becomes a better person by learning about life and connecting with what America is supposed to be all about -- but it works. And it shows how corruption has long been part of Washington, DC.

Comedies used to have a lot more meat to them. His Girl Friday deals with corrupt officials using a man's execution to get re-elected. Hail the Conquering Hero has a woman who got pregnant but can't remember if she's married or not (in 1944!!). The Apartment is about a man working as little more than a pimp to get ahead and winds up inadvertently setting up the woman he loves for heartbreak. Tootsie is about a man posing as a woman to take a job away from a woman and who comes to realize just how poorly women are treated by men like himself (though this one does veer to the more lightweight side).

I'm trying to think of a comedy in the last 20 years that carries the weight of those others, and can't. Maybe I'm just not as well-versed in comedy as I think. Or maybe I'm just getting too old for today's version of comedy. I dunno. But to me there's a huge difference between drama and mawkish sentimentality, which what comedies seem to turn to when they want to be "dramatic."

Thing is -- I do want more fun in OT, to go along with the intense parts. I tried that in The Lyons' Den but don't know if I was all that successful. People have liked the book, yet others haven't (and were brutal in their disdain), and it doesn't sell that well. So maybe when I say I'm crap at writing comedy, I really am.

Doesn't stop me from trying.