Kyle Michel Sullivan's Blog: https://www.myirishnovel.com/, page 69

Art and artists...

I found a new artist to follow -- Astra Zero. He does some beautiful horror work and seriously gay imagery, and he's also reimagined some famous paintings with a more overtly gay bent. He did one similar to Dore's The Ascension that was all nude males, full frontal.

The above image is AZ's version of The Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanel, who painted his in 1847. Both show Lucifer in a state of rage but also with a single tear under his eye. The main difference between the two is AZ's figure appears to be older and darker than Cabanel's, a bit more beefy and well-formed instead of a youth. And seems almost hurt and not just angry. To me, this makes his more meaningful.

I ordered an 8x10 print of AZ's because it so suits my mood, as of late. I'm actually watching cozy little British murder mysteries on Britbox and Acorn to draw me back to humanity. I think this will help more than anything.

I sometimes wonder what kind of artist I might have wound up as, had I not shifted to film and writing. That seemed to be my destiny, when I graduated high school. Art classes all the way through school, and working in visual merchandising at a fine department store. Painting in my spare time. Even when I started back to university, I took art classes and felt more at ease in them.

Film was fun, but never really that fulfilling. I didn't connect with it like other people in the classes I took, and I think my work was more on the bland side. Even when doing photography, I felt a slight remove from it. I didn't have the patience to do it right. Didn't have the focus.

When I was in LA, I got involved with the Tom of Finland Foundation and exhibited at their Erotic Art Fair, the first few years, when it was in a cheesy little upstairs warehouse on the wrong end of Santa Monica Blvd. Sold everything I brought. Met some erotic artists who were serious about who they were. Tagame came the last year I participated, and a dealer who was building up a collection of gay erotica for some guy in Tennessee or one of the Carolinas commissioned a few things.

But that didn't interest me as much as portraits. Like John Singer Sergeant. Rembrandt. Da Vinci. Michelangelo. When I went to Europe for the first time, I spent most of my time at the Van Rijks Museum and the Louvre. I want to go back.

I wonder if I really would have turned out to be an artist, or just been another pretender working a day job and messing around with acrylics and inks and watercolors and painting portraits from photos of models I liked, at night. Art was always my way to decompress. I even did a self-portrait, once.

Guess I'll never know, now.

Done did it...

Sent off another query and then this email to Martin Melaugh, hoping to hear a positive response regarding the photo:

Dear Martin,

 

I hope you and your father are doing well. I'm the crazy American from some years ago who was trying to write A Place of Safety, a novel set in Derry during the Troubles, even though I'm not from the area. It's been some years since I was last in contact. I actually put the book aside and tried to convince myself it was stupid for me to write this, but my main character, Brendan, refused to let me off the hook. So...I'm now close to completion.

 

I've done all I can to make it as honest a story about a Derry boy as possible. The correspondence we had was very helpful in determining much of what happens. I've been careful to use the information you shared with me for reference only, and so far the feedback from other Americans who've read part of it has been good.

 

The full story is going to be in three volumes.

The first, set in Derry between 1966 and 1972, is done and undergoing final proofing.

The second, set in Houston, Texas between 1973 and 1981, needs one more draft and then will undergo a request for feedback, editing and proofing. (This part I’m far more comfortable with because I lived in Houston for 8 years.)

The third, set in Derry during the hunger strikes, is in third draft but needs further work.

 

I've been sending queries to literary agents in hopes of finding one who will represent the book. My hope is to set it up with a publishing house but no success, thus far. So I've decided if I am unable to get positive movement on this by the beginning of the year, I will self-publish it. I've done that with other books I've written, using Ingram Spark, so know the process.

 

If I do self-publish A Place of Safety, I wonder if I'd be able to licence one of your father's photos for the book's cover? Below is a copy of the one I'd like to use. If it is acceptable to you, both, could I please know the cost and if you'd be able to supply it in a high-def format? If the answer is no, that’s fine; I’ll work something else up.

Thank you for your time, and my best to your father and family.

Regards, 

Kyle Michel Sullivan

Preparations...

Spent the day obsessing over how best to write this letter to send to agents and potential publishers and this is what I've got:

----------

I am nearing completion of my three volume novel, A Place of Safety. It is the story of Brendan Kinsella, a simple lad who just wants to live his life, but history refuses to let him.

Volume one, Derry, is set in Londonderry, Northern Ireland. Told in first person, it begins in 1966 when Brendan has just turned ten. After his father's murder, he tries to forge his own path through a society that is deeply in thrall to both history and the Catholic church while keeping apart from the growing violence. He also falls in love with a Protestant girl, a relationship which must be kept secret from family and friends, for fear of reprisals...from both sides of the conflict.

The story uses true events to anchor it, much in the same way as James Clavell's Shogun, James Michener's Texas, and Leon Uris' Trinity. It sweeps through:

 the 1968 Civil Rights demonstrations in Derry the attack on peaceful marchers at Burntollet Bridge in early 1969 the lead-up to The Battle of Bogside in August of that year the arrival of British troops to separate the two warring sides the re-introduction of internment without trial in 1971 Bloody Sunday in 1972 

This volume is undergoing a final proofing by a professional editor and will be available for your perusal by the beginning of October. 

Volume 2, New World for Old, is set between 1973 and 1981. Due to injuries sustained in a bombing, Brendan is hidden at his aunt's home in Houston, Texas. Once healed, he decides to build a life there but finds the city's politics, hates and prejudices are little different from Derry's. I just finished a fourth draft and will do a polish before having it also proofed and edited.

In volume 3, Home not Home, Brendan must return to Derry after his mother contracts cancer. This part takes place during the turmoil of the hunger strikes of 1981. He finds himself unwelcome and winds up arrested by the British army. Their interrogation about the bombing that injured him is brutal and convinces him to accept his destiny -- to join with the IRA. I am currently working on a third draft of this part, with another draft to follow.

While I have self-published 14 books in both print and e-book, both gay and straight, I would like to situate A Place of Safety with a mainstream publisher to avoid the limitations that come with self-publishing. I am hoping you can assist me with this.

Thank you for considering A Place of Safety. I believe it will align perfectly with your interests.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Shit, shit, shit...

Spoke with the IRS for nearly an hour and figured out the issue. After I paid all my taxes off, last year, someone redid my return for 2020 and decided I owed $280 more. Notices were sent to my old address after my forwarding order expired, so were returned. No idea why they weren't posted on my online account. So with penalties, fees and interest, I owed over $380 and had two choices -- get a lawyer and fight over the extra $100 or pay it. I took money out of my savings and paid it.

I thought the IRS was supposed to go after millionaires for not paying their taxes, not people on Social Security. My mistake.

So I'm in a mood.

Here are some photos of the trip I took to Fort Niagara and a link to the video I shot of the lad demonstrating that awful gun.

Walking to the entrance An actual drawbridge at The Gate of Five, in honor of the Five Nations of the Iroquois Confederacy. The inner mechanics The cannon platform, built by the British when they took over the fort. Them cannons was like this... ...and this....the Dauphine Battery. That's Canada across the river. Called the French Castle, it was build in 1726 and is the oldest building in the fort. An original map View of the French Castle and Canada, from the North Redoubt.

To the right is Toronto's city skyline, just visible, and to the left you can barely make out the skyscrapers of Mississauga, where Pearson Airport is. It was a lovely day with a nice cool breeze. I almost talked myself into crossing over at Niagara Falls, for dinner. But I was tired and needed gas in the car so didn't.

Now I'm going to watch some British murder mysteries on Britbox and Acorn and let myself process how, every time I think I'm doing all right, something comes along to kick me in the gut.

Fort Niagara demonstration

There was a presentation of how a long barrel musket was used and why, during the wars leading up through the Revolutionary War. But apparently the video I shot was too big to post. Here's a photo of the guy doing it. He's dressed as a French Marine. Even though rifles were officially available in the mid-18th Century, they cost 3 times more than a musket.

More, tomorrow. Maybe I can edit the video into segments that will upload.

Right now I'm trying to figure out why this company called CBE is claiming it's working for the IRS and insisting I haven't paid my taxes for 2020 when I've already sent them proof that I did. I've gone onto my online IRS account, and it says I owe some, also, but I have a receipt from them showing I paid everything over a year ago.

I have lots of paperwork regarding this. So tomorrow will be calling them to find out WTF???

Keep Pushing...

I worked up a preliminary idea of what A Place of Safety-Derry would be like should I publish it. In hardcover, 6x9, it would be 334 pages, total, and the least I could sell it for is $29.95 to make any money off it. That seems excessive, especially since I don't have the reach or range to publicize it enough to garner interest. My main audience, right now, is not the type who'd be interested in a fictional book about a small part of the world that few people know of.

I'm going to keep pushing to find an agent and, hopefully, get the book into a larger publishing house instead of setting it up to rely on online sales. That's Brendan's best chance to be heard. Seriously heard.

In doing this formatting, I found a couple more things that needed correcting. Of course. And if it goes into a publishing house, they will have someone proof it, in even more detail. Maybe even another edit. but it will also be done with off-line printing in bulk and be offered to bookstores all over the country, including Amazon, Barnes & Noble and the like. Publicity. Maybe a book tour or into conventions. They will also handle the cover art.

That last bit I'm not so crazy about. When The Lyons' Den was published through Star Books Press, they came up with this cover and I never really liked it. The cabin was okay but I had to ask them to add the gun and the cash to make it seem like more than just a sex romp...which it wasn't. That said, they had a good client base and I did get royalties off them. They were the ones who decided it had run its course and wanted to withdraw it from sale. That's when I got my rights back and set it up with Ingram.

I guess my next step, once I've gone through all the NYC agents is to hit those outside the city. And maybe ask the publishing houses, myself. Those that will accept unsolicited manuscripts. Sometimes that works, and a selling point will be that it's in three volumes, each published separately.

I'm going off with Brendan, tomorrow, to think about it. Clear my head. Maybe work up a letter to Martin Melaugh to still ask about the photo I want to license. I might head up to Fort Niagara. Haven't been there, yet. Stop by Niagara Falls on the way back. Pop over to Canada for a bite to eat.

We'll see how it goes.

Do I? Don't I?

I'm of two minds about contacting the Melaugh family regarding Martin Melaugh's photos. He's still alive, at 90 years old, from what I can tell. And he's published books of his photos of Derry before, during and after the worst of the Troubles. So I'd love to have that connection between the history and the book.

BUT...that might mean they'd want to read the story, and that makes me very nervous. Martin pretty much already suspects I will not get it right enough to pass muster with a Derry reader. Which I can believe. But what if it's so totally wrong, they dismiss it, completely? What if they tear it apart for inaccurate? I don't know how I'd handle that.

Still, it will, eventually, have to happen, I suppose. So I guess it'd be better to know if I fucked up before it's in print.

Here's an interview Eamon gave to The Irish News in 2019, written by Seamus McKinney:

Insanity Reigned Supreme in Battle of Bogside.

While a small number of IRA men in Derry tried to take control during the Battle of the Bogside, they were unable to and “insanity” reigned supreme, according to Eamon Melaugh.

Mr Melaugh had a key role during Battle of the Bogside as the operator of Radio Free Derry. The pirate radio station broadcast barricade updates, news and a variety of music.

“I had Radio Free Derry and I set it up. It was utter chaos; nobody had any authority so I decided to open up Radio Free Derry in an annex at the top of a lift in the flats in Rossville Street.

“There were bizarre incidents. I remember two boys came running in to say that the city engineer had told the police or the authorities that he’d turn off the water to the Bogside. So I immediately made the people aware of that on the radio but I said if anybody turns off the water to the Bogside, we’ll turn the gas off to the whole of Derry because the city’s Gasyard was in the Bogside. Needless to say the water wasn’t turned off,” Mr Melaugh said.

A committed pacifist, he said there was no question of using Radio Free Derry to call for peace because the people of the Bogside had had enough.

“I tried to use it to calm the situation down. My advice never changed at any time – I always told people to become politically involved.”

One of the organisers of the October 5 1968 civil rights’ march, Mr Melaugh remained at the frontline for three days, sending messages to his wife at home.

“You can’t imagine how chaotic it was. There was no talking to anybody, insanity raised supreme and that’s the truth.

“The only people who had influence behind the barricades were the paramilitaries and they didn’t even have a lot of influence,” he said.

As the battle ebbed and flowed, Mr Melaugh said there were key times when he realised how serious the situation was. These included watching people throwing petrol bombs from the top of the Rossville flats.

“There was a genuine fear that if the police broke through, people would be killed. They (the RUC) had guns after all and they had guns at the time.”

The arrival of the British Army to separate Bogsiders and the RUC was greeted by a sense of victory by nationalists.

“They thought they had won the war and that these were neutral peace keepers who came in but that idea was very quickly shattered. There was a feeling of euphoria and a sense of relief that they’d kept the RUC out of the area.

“But I thought there was only a question of time before hostilities would break out. I knew the army came in to impose Westminster authority.”

However, by that time, thoughts of victory or defeat were not uppermost on Mr Melaugh mind. Totally exhausted, his thoughts focused simply on getting home and sleep.

“My feet were that sore, I walked up the street with my socks and my shoes in my hand,” he said.

Now, fifty years on, while he bitterly regrets what followed, Mr Melaugh has no doubt where the blame for what ensued lay; it was with unionist leaders who thought they could treat Catholics as lesser beings.

Seeking cover images

I spent some of today looking through photos of Derry at the beginning of the Troubles, hoping I could find out who took the one shot I want to use. The young man on the street caught between two buildings.

I did find a couple taken by Eamon Melaugh that might work for the cover of APoS-Derry, instead. I can contact his son at CAIN to see if I can license them...and how much that'd cost.

I like this one the most. It's like Brendan is at his front door, waiting for his Chinas to show up. A tender yet careful feel to it. The other is the two boys seated on the Derry walls, flanking a cannon that's facing down Nailors Row. I've posted that one, before.

I also remembered having some email correspondence with the son, Martin Melaugh, back in 2011. He was very helpful in helping center the events in the story. He lived up in the Creggan area, as a boy, which was much nicer than the Bogside, and once spoke of when his school was caught in the crossfire of a full-scale gun battle between the IRA and British troops.

The students were all gathered in the center courtyard, for protection, because bullets where going everywhere. The vast majority from the British. It went on for hours. Finally, during a lull, a priest drove him to his house, which was close to the school. But when they got there, gunfire started, again, and he had to scramble to get through the front door to keep from being shot. This was not long after Bloody Sunday.

British forces were already becoming very indiscriminate in where they aimed their weapons. The IRA factions were better, though not by much. And what did it achieve, in the end? With the Easter Accord, Catholics got a lot of the rights they'd wanted in 1968. Thirty dears of death and destruction that could have been avoided if one side hadn't been so hateful and distrustful against the other.

Such a waste...but this is what religion and stupidity lead us to.

Jaded...

Okay, I think I have all the editing detail work done on APoS-Derry, now, so tomorrow I'm doing one last proofing. Gonna try and find whatever additional typos that might be in the text. Once that is done, I may dig into the Houston part of the story and do another draft on that before letting go of Book One.

My main goal will be to make certain Brendan's memories match what's in the Derry section of the book, and I don't want to be done with it till I'm sure. There may still be adjustments to be made to have them flow into the Houston section, and I want that part settles before I plow into Houston, completely.

The last section -- Return -- is set nearly 8 years after he leaves Derry, so he won't be remembering things perfectly...and yet, he will. But a lot of redevelopment will have been done in the city, with streets rearranged and the town deeply shattered. It'll be like a whole new city, even though it isn't.

So I stepped back, this evening, and watched an episode of Kenneth Branagh's Wallender. I'd seen a few and grown weary of the brutal emphasis on the lead character's suffering and meaning and on and on, and this one just reminded me of why I stopped watching. It was a 60 page script expanded into 90 minutes by lots of long takes of Kenneth emoting.

It also had some stupid moments in it. Like a burly man knocked out by chloroform in moments (it takes a lot longer). And a man bound and kept in a room for three weeks, in his undies, in a seated position on the floor, blindfolded but in a way that would have let him remove the blindfold with his bound hands, which he doesn't do, yet still being strong enough for the killer to force-march into the woods. His legs' muscles would have weakened too much.

But what really struck me most was how its whole visual style was almost exactly like Shetland and Hinterland and Vera and other UK detective shows I've see. So much so, it would be hard to tell them apart if you didn't know the actors. The scripts are the same bent, too. Dark and meaningful, and sexless.

Funny...but the best and most sensuous relationship in all of them is in Shetland, between Malcolm (a bit of a player in money and people) and Jimmy (the police DI who oozes integrity). They share custody of a daughter, since her mother is dead. (First married to Malcolm, who's father; then to Jimmy, who's dad). If the producers had been brave, they'd have made them a couple. The chemistry was there, just not the nerve.

Typical.

Dancing between worlds...

Made several corrections regarding the value of things in Derry in the late 60s. I'd forgotten how it was in the 70s that inflation hit the UK hard. Up till then, wages were low, the dole was even lower than I thought, and prices were cheap.

We lived in London from the summer of 1958 to the summer of 1961, and even on a USAF non-com's pathetic salary lived quite well. We had a 3-bedroom row house in Ruislip Gardens, off the next to the last stop on the Central Tube line. It had a gravelly front, a short front yard but long back yard and shed. Behind us was an alley. Between us and the shopping area were cricket and rugby pitches. I loved it, there.

Did my first three years at a school that served American as well as British kids, around whom I felt more natural. I spoke like a Brit. Loved tea. Called cookies biscuits. Was bold enough to wander about wherever I wanted, in the area. Which got me into trouble a couple of times.

There was one occasion a friend and I were exploring the far side of the pitch, where a creek rambled past, and didn't get back to his place till well past six. I was supposed to be home by then, but I didn't notice the clock till it was nearly 6:30 and my stepfather came looking for me. Pissed, in every sense of the word. Whipped me with a belt all the way back to our house.

Didn't teach me a thing. I never built up a good sense of time, and kept on doing my rounds as I wanted. The Scottish lady across from us would feed me tea and cucumber sandwiches made with cream cheese and we'd talk. She just let me prattle and I felt very grown up. Her husband was employed by the Ministry of Defense so was rarely about. I don't remember if they had adult children or grandkids.

My mother had difficulty living there. She became pregnant with my younger sister, who was born in the UK, and wound up having her first nervous breakdown. It wasn't long after my sister was born, so probably was something akin to postpartum depression. We probably would have come back to the states once she was released from the hospital, but it was middle of my third year and we were set to be transferred to Kansas City, so stayed to the end.

A high school fills the cricket pitch, now. Our house was the little white slash to the upper left of Just Cork. Almost dead center, at the top. I went back to see it a few years ago, when I was there. It's painted white.

I remember I did not want to return. London had become my home. But my grandmother was in San Antonio and we'd be stopping there, first, so that made up for it.

I still feel at home when I travel to London. Funny how that works.