Kyle Michel Sullivan's Blog: https://www.myirishnovel.com/, page 33

Working on it...

This image is going to be on the back of the jacket.

I adjusted the synopsis for the dust jacket while en route to Chicago. Longer...more detailed...but better? Seems a bit loose.

Derry, April 1981

The hunger strike has been underway for a month and Northern Ireland is in turmoil. Demonstrations. Protests. Rioting. And more death at the hands of the IRA, Constables and British soldiers. The last thing in the world Brendan wants to do is return there. But he is told his mother is dying and she wants to see him, so he feels duty-bound to go.

Using the passport of his friend, Jeremy Landau, he slips into the country pretending to be an American Jew researching a paper for his thesis, and everyone appears to accept that. After all, it’s been eight years since he was spirited off, and many think the lad known as Brendan Kinsella is long dead...though that doesn't keep the British from still wanting to question him about the bombing that nearly killed him.

He quickly finds out his mother did not ask for him. In fact, she remains coldly antagonistic to him...while lucid. Under the effects of Percocet, she sometimes rambles about the past and fails to recognize him as her son. It is now very obvious the end is near, for her.

Brendan figures he was tricked into coming home because it is Maeve, his younger sister, who needs him. She is stretched to her limit, caring for Ma and working for peace, with Father Jack. His older sister, Mairead, is pregnant with twins so cannot help. His Aunt Mari is having issues with her own family. His younger brother, Rhuari, has been helping some, but is more focused on keeping himself and his wife as much out of the back and forth with the Constables and Army as possible. And his youngest brother, Kieran, is in gleeful confrontation with them.

But what is worse? His older brother, Eamonn, is in prison and being pushed to add his name to the list of hunger strikers. Something Brendan cannot abide.

Since his mother’s death is near, Brendan stays to help Maeve while keeping as low a profile as possible. But his mother’s ramblings raise questions about his father’s past and why the man was murdered. And he is sent careening into turmoil when Father Jack lets slip that Joanna might not have been killed in the bombing that injured Brendan. He tries to find a way to verify it without revealing himself but is blocked at every turn.

Until Bobby Sands dies and Derry explodes into full-scale rioting and death, trapping Brendan in the chaos as the British Army’s search for him closes in.

Cover work started...

I've begun prepping the dust jacket for A Place of Safety-Home Not Home and it's coming together nicely except for one thing -- I need to expand my synopsis for the flaps. What I have now is short, tense and to the point...maybe too much so.

April 1981

Hunger strikes are underway and Northern Ireland is in turmoil. That’s when Brendan is called home, thinking his terminally ill mother wants to see him. He travels there under a different name, trying to keep a low profile because the British still want to question him about the bombing that injured him. What he finds is, despite being in the final stages of cancer she is still very antagonistic towards him.

But he also sees his sister, Maeve, is worn out both caring for their mother while also working for peace. His younger brother, Rhuari, helps some but tries to keep himself out of the back-and-forth with the Army. then there's his youngest brother, Kieran, who treats full confrontation with the authorities as a game. What is worse, his older brother, Eamonn, is locked up in Maze prison, is considering adding his name to the list of hunger strikers.

Then under the influence of her medication, his mother inadvertently reveals secrets about his father that make him wonder if the man’s murder was really sectarian violence or merely petty revenge. But as he looks into it, Father Jack inadvertently reveals to him that Joanna might still be alive, which knocks Brendan off-center. He tries to find a way to verify it without revealing himself yet is blocked at everyu turn.

Then Bobby Sands dies and Derry explodes into rioting and death, trapping Brendan in the chaos as the British Army’s search for him begins to close in.

It barely covers the front flap so I've removed it.. Much more is needed...maybe. I'm still thinking on that.

Home, and happier...

Drove back to Buffalo along the 90 Thruway with it raining nonstop. Even a dash of snow.  The big, black Jeep Grand Cherokee Hybrid I was given is very comfortable and the heated seats were all I really needed to keep warm enough. If I get too cozy, I get sleepy, so I let myself stay a bit on the chilled side.

Tomorrow is laundry, a few groceries, gas, and sorting out the paperwork. I'm not turning the car in till Sunday, when I fly out for Chicago. It was a week charge for the vehicle, anyway. I still prefer my Civic's size to this SUV, but I can adjust.

My constant, right now, is being in a sort of limbo when it comes to the writing projects. I cannot seem to focus on anything except finalizing HNH. I did add in a bit where Brendan gives a deposition about being waterboarded while at Castlereagh. But he knows nothing will come of it. The European Court on Human Rights is too weak to go up against England's self-righteousness, as was proven in 1978 when Ireland asked them to designate the Army's treatment of certain prisoners as torture instead of, effectively, just saying it wasn't nice to do.

It added a paragraph into the next to the last chapter, but didn't affect the Table of Contents numbering.

I also decided I didn't like the final sentence of the chapter preceding it. Brendan saying his new role in life was that of Brendan Kinsella. It's silly. I have to think of a better one.

As I've often noted, the book is not done being written until it's in print.

Milk is the magic elixir...

Got the books on their way, despite a steady downpour of rain. There were two people with the van for pickup, so I let them bring the boxes out and I wiped off the water, once they were in the van, so everything would stay dry. I now know that 34 cartons at 18x14x12" will cover the floorboard of a transit van, wall to wall to the back of the seats.

Dropped by the Norman Rockwell Museum afterwards and got an actual poster of Murder in Mississippi. They didn't have it available the last time I went, a few years back. I have a smaller printout of it framed and on my wall to remind me that racist murder and hate have long been a part of this country's heritage.

Then I had a decent pizza and took a nap...and woke up feeling cranky. Till I had a glass of milk. That seemed to even me out. I like milk...not just in my tea but to cook with and...well, to be honest...it's almost like a comfort food. I practically lived on it when I was growing up. Would drink it instead of water. Same for cheese. Must be the Norwegian in me.

I worked up costing for a couple possible jobs in February and March/April...and found out there will be a shadow fair in San Francisco the weekend before the California Book Fair in Pasadena. Seems the organizers finally managed to drive out the previous people arranging the fair, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. But it's not something I need to deal with.

My next project is getting the book cover done for HNH. I have the template and will do the same as with Derry and NWFO...leave a blank space on the back for any reviews that come in. I'm not asking Kirkus because the last one was a bit off-putting. Didn't seem connected to the first book, at all. BookLife paid more attention to it.

So tomorrow is heading home. Then it's a quick job in Chicago-not-Chicago. Fun.

Displace energies...

I blasted through and got the job done, today. Moved pickup to tomorrow morning, from Friday. I'm still not returning home till then. I need some space to relax and recharge...if I can. I beginning to wonder if my batteries are spent, completely, beyond redemption.

I am so fucking tired. Feet hurt. This new SUV I've got has heated seats and using that on my back as I drove home helped that part of my anatomy. Now I'm going to soak in a tub and try not to fall asleep.

I don't want to do this, anymore, but I am so fucked up, financially, I have to just to keep up with my bills. Even going to a credit consolidator is only leaving me with $400 a month to live on. I can't do that in today's world., not even on beans and rice.

I am proud of finally finishing APoS's last volume, and I'll be able to put it into circulation around Christmas, but damn I've spent so much money trying to get Derry and NWFO noticed, I can't do any of it for HNH. I look back at how much I've spent on just that book for listings and postings and publicity and book fairs and copies and...and it's close to a third of my debt. And next to nothing is happening, with it, in sales.

I'm not lowering the price. $32.50 seems high for each hardcover, but any lower and I'm not making any money on it. Actually paying to have it printed. So I'm stuck.

I dunno...maybe volume 3 is better off not being noticed...

I do not want a new car...

Lovely morning, this morning, when the new Jeep Grand Cherokee I'd driven from Buffalo to Great Barrington, MA refused to start. Refused to unlock. Refused to do anything. Even when Avis sent someone out to jump start it...nothing. Completely, totally and absolutely dead.

With all of my packing materials in the back.

I remembered new cars' beeper fobs usually have an emergency key in them, so was able to open the driver's door...but couldn't even get the other doors to unlock. So everything came out the hard way.

I wound up being driven to the Avis counter at Bradley Airport near Hartford, where they were as unaccommodating as possible. Everything is set up, according to roadside assistance. Except they should have informed that Avis office. That took forever, so I go to the packing site 4.5 hours late.

I'm already leery of modern cars with their heavy reliance on electronics, and this has only confirmed my insistence on keeping my little Civic. I'm spending thousands to get the brakes overhauled, but it's an amazing car, considering it's 27 years old. And being without it has shown me how much I need it.

I did have a thought hit me about HNH...that Brendan needs to either testify about being waterboarded...and not being believed...or refusing to talk about. It's too big a deal to ignore.
So I'll add that when I do my corrections.

Strange...

Drove to Great Barrington, MA from Buffalo. An easy drive straight down the 90 going east...well, after I got past Rochester. Supposedly, there was a major wreck on the 90 between Rochester and Buffalo so I took the 33 to the 490 then on to connect, and it was nice. Slower but also more soothing.
Maybe too soothing. Normally when I'm driving I can think about some project I'm working on or want to work on, but not this time. My brain refused to engage. Nothing on DW or BA or even continuing with The Beast as horror erotica. I'd try to start something and it would just drift away.

I'd look at the passing scenery and buildings in the countryside. Decide I prefer the spicy Cheez-its to the bacon and cheese ones. Chew some peppermint gum. Stop for a pee break and to stretch my legs. All without a thought in my head.

One thought that came to me is I've decided no matter what happens next, me having written all three volumes of A Place of Safety is what I'm most proud of. No matter what people say about it, I did right by Brendan and his story. Some details may be wrong, here and there, but the truth of the story stands. 

That is what it boils down to. I wasn't writing a novel about Northern Ireland during the Troubles. I was relating the story of Brendan and his world. How he navigated it. How he almost did not survive it. That's why my initial big-bang ending, where he joins the IRA and kills Father Jack as a tout, was all wrong. It wasn't Brendan's way. Never could be.

So a quiet ending was necessary. Cutting all ties. Heading off into his own existence. I don't know if anyone will understand that...if I related it well-enough...but to me, that is what it means.

The only way to survive in this world is to not let yourself get caught up in its chaos.

Pause

Off to another packing job, tomorrow. And that quickie one almost immediately following. So I'm not back to myself until Wednesday, the 27th. At which time I will need to start considering whether I want to stay with my current health insurance and lose my doctor, or stay with my doctor and change insurance. On top of a number of other situations.

Then there's my car, in for repairs that will be fucking expensive, and I can't charge it. My one workable credit card will be full with the cost of these trips till I get my expenses reimbursed. So there goes most of my savings.

I'm gonna have to work till I'm dead, looks like. That or try this new fad diet called starvation. Can you do a GoFundMe to pay off credit card debt?

I gotta stop my worrying. No matter how freaked out I get over the future, it never turns out like I expect. And reality is, I will have A Place of Safety done and out and available...after decades of working on it. No matter what happens, I have that...and I am fucking proud of myself for completing it...

If I get my editor's feedback in time. I haven't heard a thing from them, yet.

It's funny, but now that I have Queer Manifesto/Porno Manifesto in screenplay format, it's not as pressing a project. I may work on it in the evenings...but I have a lot of books, in my ebook queue. I'd like to get some of those read.

At least I'm not all that depressed, anymore. Seems the MAGAt winners are already beginning to snap and snarl at each other. Maybe chaos in that party will be our friend and protector. Who'd have thunk it?

Major change

I finished a reformatting of Porno Manifesto...now called Queer Manifesto. But to be honest, I'm still not sure about the title. It's kind of meh, to me. I mean, it works into the story and sort of fits with the ending, which is blunt and brutal, because the ending took off in a different direction. Which makes sense...I just don't know if the script leads up to it. 

Freddy, the one who initiates the action against Alec, tries to kill himself because he's been revealed as a self-loathing closet case. Alec sees it happen, albeit months after the fact. He'd put cameras in Freddy's room to record what was going on...and catches it just before the server goes blank.

So...overall, Alec's plan to prove any male is capable of gay sex in the right place at the right time works. But it destroys a couple of lives in doing so.

I have to go through to make certain the dialogue aligns correctly from page to page, so I'll see what happens. The structure of this script is in 5 acts, not three. Which I don't have a problem with so long as one leads correctly to the next.

That's what I'm not sure about. I think they build to the moment when Alec is nearly beaten to death, at the end of act 4, while the last act is his recovery and return to being human, again, and not a vicious beast. It's Freddy's suicide attempt that jolted me, along with the hint that one of his buddies may have suggested it and left him the method he uses.

It's 122 pages, currently, but I have a feeling it will wind up more like 124-125. There are long moments of action in this, without dialogue, so if made it could easily fit over 2 hours. Which I don't worry about. I doubt it will ever even be considered for production.

I still want feedback on this. I may post it on a couple of gay sites to get comments, once I have it in as good a form as I can. Post each act...get an idea of how it's going...

Yesterday was a shit day making me feel even older than I am. And poorer. I slept a lot, once I got home from the errands I had to run. I'm slipping into poverty, not that I was ever rich. Barely middle class. And now it's crashing down around me. So...it will be what it will be.

Down...

 I follow this guy on Xitter...which is becoming a cesspool of filth and degradation.

It speaks volumes that white working class men would rather have a back-stabbing criminal in office than an accomplished black woman. And don't get me started on the supporters of Palestinians in Gaza who said not to vote for Harris, especially in Michigan, and now have their worst nightmares about to come true, there.
The world is so fucking stupid, and completely out of control. I'm almost rooting for Mother Nature to just wipe us out.