Kyle Michel Sullivan's Blog: https://www.myirishnovel.com/, page 7

Working my way through...

I'm old and tired and cranky, and having to accept I cannot do this kind of work for much longer...if at all. I'm maybe just over halfway through the library, at 25 boxes, and should be done for the pickup time...and I am exhausted.

I'm also having an odd emotional reaction to these books. They're all about WW1, with lots of poetry and reminiscences that seem to have been self-published. It's been well over a hundred years since the end of that war, one that was seen as being stupid and begun thanks to a few men's egos...once called The War to End All Wars...and had history has shown, it didn't.

I'm feeling an odd sadness deep within at how casually mankind will kill and destroy while how hard it is to get them to care for others and to build. Russia in Ukraine. Israel in Gaza. India and Pakistan. The dozen conflicts going on in Africa. And peace is almost never the true intention of them. It's just power and domination.

We're basically in a non-shooting civil war in the US, between the MAGAt Class of racists and those of us who despise everything they stand for. Felon47 is sending troops into cities that do not support him, as if he can force his will on them. Like he forced himself on God knows how many women and children.

Maybe this feeling I'm having is more like melancholy at how people refuse to learn from history. Refuse to grow. They almost seem to...then forget it all and start pretending the lies they're being fed by the billionaire-owned media is truth, even when it directly contradicts reality.

This has me thinking about Simon Holleran, again. He winds up killed because he wouldn't roll over in the face of a system of justice meant to protect those in power, not him. Not sure how I could work all of this into his story...but it is beginning to weigh on me.

Not even sure if I want to bother...

Old-man-itis...

Today went well. Not as fast as I'd like, but there is less to do so I'm not pushing it. I'm finding my back is not happy with me standing for 8 hours. Still, the books are smaller than I thought so I'm fitting far more into each box. And are some lovely ones...

This is from a job I did more than 3 years ago, which was fairly well-organized and clean. Today's library is another that's an exception to the rule of packing; it's in order and easy to deal with. Not even any dust. Not a great workspace, overall, but not the worst I've ever had to deal with.

I do love interacting with books. Like the psycho I am, I talk to them and ask them to help each other when dealing with one that's more fragile...and even let them know they're going to good homes. I also pay compliments or give sympathy when they haven't been cared for, in the past.

Had no time to really think about BA-4. Even after dinner. I was too tired and had other things that had to be done. Now I'm going to draw a nice hot bath and sit in it till I'm shriveled up like a prune.

And try to figure out how best to utilize the fine work being turned out by the woman I've hired for promoting my writing. I've been pretty neglectful in that. And am too dumb to work it out for myself so may ask her for input.

Gearing up for Halloween and Christmas...so I got the goods for everyone to give as gifts...

Ah, Houston...

If I ever need reminding why I never want to live here again, little work trips like this will do the job. Confusing street names that Google Maps got wrong. Like calling Telegraph Road the 35...and telling me it will take me to the 45...when it doesn't. I have to branch off to Reveille to do that. Then dealing with sections of the 45 and the interchange to the 69 which use to be the 59...where you have to swing over three lanes of traffic within 1000 feet to get onto it. And that's with me still knowing the basic layout of the city.

Well, within the 610 Loop.

The flights were okay, though the one from Baltimore to Houston was late. But I arrange to get onto the plane first, with Southwest, so I can get a seat with lots of room. Then I can work easily on my laptop.

I started going through BA-4 and got to the point where Léonidès reconnects with Dmitry. Added in a new character, Christian, who used to be a member of Queen Christina's court and wound up exiled when she abdicated. He's one of Gabrielle's vampire men, knows he's gay and uses him to torment Dmitry for not telling her he could never become her mate.

Léon's pointed towards Korea, where Gabrielle is tracking down a young captain in the US Navy who's en route to force Korea to open up to Western trade. Léon senses she hasn't turned the man, yet, so off he goes...after a few days in Dmitry's bed.

So this part is closing in on 19K in wordage, but I think I'll trim it back some. I was setting up the paqrt of the story set in New Orleans...which has changed. How much, I don't know, yet. 

But it's coming along...

Trippin'...

Off to Houston, tomorrow AM. Gotta pack 2000 books +/- but have 4 days to do it in, now, so shouldn't be a problem. Except they have to be checked off against a list, which adds time. And of course it's hovering around 90 and 75% humidity, but it will mostly be in an air conditioned house. I'm still bringing my portable fans.

And getting some good Tex-Mex...and even some truly nasty. And there'll be decent BBQ. Being there till Friday will help space it out.

I've been thinking about BA-4 and needing to find a good subtitle for it. Journey to Betrayal? In search of Betrayal? Leon travels from France to England to grab a ship and transit towards Korea by passenger ship, by way of the Suez Canal to India and Indonesia and Hong Kong and Shanghai and finally Seoul.

Of course, he connects with vampires along the way, and feeds at each port, before connecting with a vampire ocean captain who uses duòlos to help run his ship. Leon has money enough to buy a clipped to bring him home...and learns the Oiym are keeping an eye on him, in case he treis to overthrow the Council.

All of this is pretty well established in what I have, so far. I want to get it done by the end of September...well, first weeks of October because I'm doing Seattle, again. This time heading over on the 17th of October and back on the 20th.

Too damn much is going on, and I don't like how it's cutting into my trolling for pretty male images...

Red Speedo

I wrote this, years ago. Still brings back a fond memory...

----

Used to be, when I was asked when I knew I was gay, I’d pop off with a glib, “The first time I saw Gene Kelly’s ass.” And it wasn’t far wrong. I happened onto a Saturday afternoon showing of On The Town on TV – just about the time he meets up with Miss Turnstiles and they do their little duet – and got locked onto him and his derriere in that white sailor suit...and never once looked back. 

 But reality is, that was merely the first time I understood what it was I wanted in life. The first time I knew that I wasn’t like the other guys was when I went on a camping trip with my Boy Scout troop.I was a Second Class about two or three badges short of being First Class, and I’d been part of this troop at my church for a year. 

Which was pretty good for just being twelve and having lived in five different cities in the previous four years. 

 I didn’t like it much. Wasn’t really one of the guys. And camping was pure boredom. Though I didn’t mind sitting around a late night campfire telling ghost stories – it being in Texas, everybody knew at least three, and since I’d lived in England I knew five. But sleeping under the stars was uncomfortable and I never got the hang of cooking in the wild. 

 Then one weekend we went on a hike to stay overnight along the Guadalupe Rive, near New Braunsfels. A damn had recently been completed and a lake would soon cover this large section of gullies and ravines with ice cold spring water, an area saturated with towering Cedar Trees and bubbling brooks and limestone cliffs, and my first thought at seeing it was, “What a shame to fill it in with water.”

 It was an June weekend, the time of year where the air surrounds you in a blanket of stillness. A rain the night before added to the humidity, so by the time we reached our chosen camp site, we were dripping with sweat and near heat exhaustion. So the leader of our troop said, “Let’s drop everything and hit the water.” 

 Took the other guys no time to become a dozen tweens in shorts and trunks splashing around in a pool shaded by ancient Pecan trees. Wrestling. Swimming. Making noise. 

 Thing is, I couldn’t swim, so couldn’t join them. Not that it mattered; I was transfixed by a simple series of rapids and tiny waterfalls gurgling past at breakneck speed. So I sat and watched twigs and leaves race by like little boats and pretended they were jumping over Niagara Falls. 

 Now, we also had assistant scout master, who was a young Airman with a wife and who was about to be a father. He was around 6 feet tall with dark hair, tight and trim, and with tanned skin. I'd thought he was very good-looking, and he was really nice to me. Very patient, like when he showed me for the tenth time how to do a simple square knot. As I said, I really didn't understand why I thought that, at the time. I was just focused on how wonderful his hands were, and I wanted to sketch them, sometime. So I thought I was just being artistic. 

 Well...he joined our party by standing on a rock at the top of the rapids cascade. Straight and proud. Broad shoulders. Trim hips. Legs to die for. His elegant form framed by deep green trees, slashes of white rock and clear blue sky. Water splashing around his ankles. His hands on his hips as he surveyed the majesty of the area. And all he was wearing was a bright red, square cut Speedo. 

 I looked up and saw him and my heart nearly stopped. He was like Adonis descended from Olympus, with that perfect body, a smile that outshone the sun and RayBans shielding his eyes. 

He was such a complete vision of Steve McQueen cool, I actually cried out, "Mr. Prescott, you're gorgeous." 

 My voice echoed off the rocks. And everyone heard it. And it got very quiet.But all Mr. Prescott did was look at me...and smile...and say, "Thank you." Nothing more. 

 At that moment, I would have killed to be held by him. 

 The rest of the camping trip was me being teased as a girl with a crush by the other boys, but never when he was in earshot. Then when we got back to the church, the scout master took me to one side and told me I should leave the troop because, "We know how uncomfortable you must feel, here, because we feel uncomfortable, too."

 I shrugged. I was never going to gain First Class status in Scouting because I couldn’t swim, and you had to have that badge to advance.Of course, my parents were informed. They shrugged it off as being something he'll grow out of.

But I’d caught my first real glimpse of how the world treats those not straight and simple. Still didn't understand what I was thinking or feeling, but now there was a stain on it and I didn't know how to end that.

 I didn't see Mr. Prescott, again, after that. He was transferred to California, and not long after his wife brought a new little boy into the world. All the ladies in the church were buzzing like crazy, about it. 

 I got depressed, when I heard. I knew I'd never see him, again.

 I do still conjure him up, sometimes, standing on that rock like the kingly gentleman he was. And still, sometimes...sometimes, when I dream of that day, I hold him...and he holds me…and nothing more.

 And for those few moments, I feel whole.

Procrastination central...

That's all I did, today--avoided doing anything I needed to. Kept myself in the abstract as everything around me grew more and more real.

Did I do cooking? Nah. Cleaning? Well, I did dust a couple of shelves. Darning socks? One pair; the other I'm just chucking and buying fresh socks, tomorrow. Lunch? Made a meatloaf sandwich. Had a beer...which was a mistake. It just made me grumpier.

Did I start in on BA-4? Nope. Did I sort out the papers on my desk? Nope. Did I watch anything or read anything? Nope. Did a bit of back-and-forth with some idiots online...but I've finally reached the point where they are completely unimportant, to me.

As regards that, I'm finally in accordance with Dieterich Bonhoeffer's notion about humanity. He was a German theologian who viewed stupidity as a more dangerous force than evil because it's impervious to reason, facts, and even force. We're nottalking just  a lack of intelligence, but a moral failing characterized by a resistance to critical thinking and a willingness to accept simplistic narratives, particularly within group settings.

It was a condition that people can fall into, especially within powerful social structures or during times of rising power. He saw that educated and cultured individuals could support harmful policies, not out of malice, but out of a kind of intellectual passivity and a susceptibility to groupthink.

Meaning stupid people are resistant to logic, facts, and arguments, often dismissing contradictory information as inconsequential or irrelevant. They prefer to rely on slogans and catchphrases rather than engaging in critical analysis.

The dangerous potential of stupid people, particularly those in positions of power, is they can easily be manipulated and become agents of destruction. He also noted their tendency towards self-satisfaction and defensiveness when confronted with their own limitations.

He disliked intellectual passivity and believed critical thinking as the best way to resist manipulation and harmful ideologies. But that requires individuals to be willing to question, to learn, and to take responsibility for their actions, even when it is difficult or unpopular.

Nice thoughts, but he never had to deal with the MAGAt Class...

Stop the changing, already!!!!

Why the fuck do things have to be so complicated? And changing, nonstop? Making plans is a lesson in futility, it seems...I mean, lately...and I don't want to have to deal with it all.

I want a guy like this to come to my home, fix me dinner, give me a rub-down in every way you can imagine as I whine about how fucked up I am, serenade me into a good mood, and then leave.

If I ever make a billion dollars, I'd hire one to do just that. Dressed in the same outfit...well, not exactly. I don't like those undies. Basic white CKs or a nice red Speedo, instead.

I've had a thing about red Speedos since the assistant scoutmaster of my troop wore one to go swimming on a camping trip...and I told him he was gorgeous. Which he was. But then, I was only twelve, so I may be coloring more beauty into his memory than was really there.

Still, it got me removed from the Boy Scouts. Not that I cared. Two years in that and cub scouts, and I still had trouble remembering how to tie a square knot. I wrote about that, once; I should revisit it.

Anyway, my plans next week are redone, thanks to there still being a bedbug issue on my floor. Or maybe above or below; you never know with those damned things. I got a notice the exterminator was coming on Monday...right when I was getting a home visit from United Healthcare then planning to hit the airport to fly to Houston.

So, rescheduled the visit, found out changing my flight to Sunday, instead, would cut $18 off the price of the ticket and an extra night's hotel room would only add $90...so got the okay to change it. I'm now set to start packing on Monday instead of Tuesday.

I'm thinking of diving into book four of Blood Angel, since it's already worked out. I need to change a number of details in it, for consistency, but I've got another 17,000 words already written. Beginning, middle and end, with Gabrielle being a total bitch.

We'll see...

Am I a bit autistic?

I wonder if I am, sometimes. I exhibit a few of the signs, but nothing intense. I have to force myself to maintain eye contact. It's near impossible for me to make friends. I'm leery of doing something new and different, including seeing movies; I prefer to rewatch classics or movies I liked over and over again. I like predictability. I lose interest in projects quickly, once they become too demanding. And I hate moving anywhere that I don't know anyone.

This evening, I spent ten minutes in my kitchen trying to decide about making another peach cobbler with Bisquick...while holding the box in my hand. Couldn't decide between hot tea or another DPZ, to drink.

And yet, I can reach the point where I say fuck it to anything that's bothering me and do whatever I need to do. I can slowly...very slowly....make myself complete something that does mean a lot to me. Like A Place of Safety. But I was fighting myself every step of the way.

And when it comes to working out social situations, I can be amazingly stupid or dense or whatever. And fly off the handle if things get too hard to face or control.

But at the same time, I don't have many of the other symptoms. No hand-clapping or humming...though I do still brutally bite my nails, to the quick. And I'll go after the cuticles, too.

What gets me going through stories like Blood Angel and such is writing very intense sex scenes. Some nice. Most cold and cruel versions of rape. When I'm working on that I'm almost happy. I tell myself it's because I'm venting my anger or letting off prurient steam...but it's because I've never been willing to become that involved with anyone. It's my outlet for not having human contact.

Hell, not wanting human contact.

So...I watched The Thursday Murder Club and smiled and snarled about the changes they made. I hated what they did with one of the characters, turning him from a brute to a tragic figure. And then, since I had to sign up with Netflix to do it -- $20 a month for no commercials!! -- I rewatched The Glass Onion. Because I knew the ending.

This may be something I need to ask my Dr. about.

Creature of habit...

I'm going through my usual downbeat emotions now that Book 3 of Blood Angel is done. Dealt with it to an extent by trying to track down a magnesium cream that's supposed to relieve tingling in your feet, something I get every now and then, at night. I've been handling it by rubbing on Icy Hot with Lidocaine, which does well enough, but I wanted to see if this is better.

None. Anywhere. Not even Whole Foods or GNC. I have to order it online...and apparently Amazon has the corner on the market. Irritating. I did find a lotion so will try that out, but I get the impression it's not the same thing, exactly.

I may be getting new images for Blood Angel to use as avatars. The woman who's handling promotion for me thinks I need to change the dimensions to better suit D2D's wants, even though D2D won't distribute the books to anyone other than Smashwords.

I still don't understand the relationship between D2D and Smashwords, because the books are actually linked through Books2Read...but so far it's been going okay. 

I finished reading The Thursday Murder Club and enjoyed it, for the most part. I'm not a fan of adding details to the description of a character halfway into the story, and it did scatter about a lot, and I feel the revelation about the murders at the end was a cop out. But I'm still going to join Netflix to watch it...unless it's available on some other platform.

I suppose I could also get to work on Blood Angel Book Four...but no enthusiasm for it, yet.

Done, again, and now for Four...

 Here are my new avatars...

BA-1 ... When Léonidès met Gregory and his friends, his life was complete...until they raped and murdered him...and he became a Blood Angel, the highest caste of vampire, and they became his pack.

BA-2 ... In 1870 during the Franco-Prussian war, Léonidès thinks he's found a fellow Blood Angel to be his mate...a handsome cuirassier named Franz. But for that to happen he must get approval from the Oiym council, and the man has to be willing.

BA-3 ... Leon is denied permission to turn Franz so decides to offer him to Gabrielle in exchange for Dmitriy. But The Council may have other plans, especially Luahl...who’s never liked Leonides.