Kyle Michel Sullivan's Blog: https://www.myirishnovel.com/, page 70

Shock and awe...

There may be civil war in Russia. We'll know more in the morning, but at the moment it appears the head of Wagner, Prigozhin, has led his men to surround the headquarters of Russia's Southern Military Command in Rostov-on-Don and is planning to march on Moscow. If he's in control of Rostov, he's got access to a huge amount of military materiel, and that's scary.

However, he's verbally attacked the current Minster of Defense, Shoygu, but not Putin, so a lot of this is still off-center. BUT...it's just possible this will give Moscow the excuse to withdraw from Ukraine without losing face...which would be lovely.

I am convinced this happened because I posted a video of Tom Hiddleston dancing to Ra Ra Rasputin, by Boney, yesterday. Rather fits, in a way. No matter what, I'm accepting responsibility for it.

Also some family chat to deal with. And the realization I haven't gotten my tax refund from NY State...and finally noticing my CPA input my old address for a check when I'd always had it direct deposited to my checking account. It's not a lot, but every little bit helps. Meaning no inputting done, today, and Monday will be taken up with getting that corrected, I'm sure.

So...just more digging into notes and adding a few more details to APoS. Simple things like add a photo on the wall of Brendan's grandparents, on his mother's side. He knows his father was an orphan but there are questions about a lot of that, questions he cannot get answered even though people in Derry know each other's lineage back a dozen generations, almost.

There will be, tomorrow. I'm getting this draft done by the end of the month.

Ready to start next polish...

More notes made. A bit of revision to smooth some additions over. Now it's time to go through and input all the changes in the Word file. See what I've got going here. Make it fit and be a smooth read, which is why I go over and over and over my work. I'm not like Stephen King; I don't have his command of language, never have. He spits 'em out like a human branch of AI.

I used to think I was smart. The way some of my books fell together gave me a hint of arrogance, a bit too much certainty that I know what I'm doing. I just neglected to keep in mind that those were jaunty things with sex and violence in them, and weren't too solidly grounded in reality. My hardest one, Bobby Carapisi, took a fair amount of effort to make right, but that was because the characters took me places I didn't want to go and I fought them.

But with A Place of Safety, I'm dealing not only with a real time and actual places and events that truly occurred, I'm dealing with making sure the characters ring true for how they would have lived their lives. And dealing with a couple people already having told me I will never be able to make it right. So I've worked it and worked it and worked it and am now at the point where I can accept that if it's good enough for someone in LA or NYC or even London to read it and feel it's true, that's the best I can do.

I won't be able to not read what people say about it, if it gets any reviews. That's a compulsion with me. But it's also how I see what works and what doesn't. Like with The Beast in the Nothing Room. The reviews are pretty good for it, but one comment caught me and I could see where I'd made a mistake; I didn't set the relationship between Finn and Christian up well enough to honestly earn the ending. Didn't make that mistake in the books after.

So on this story, I'm dancing as fast as Tom Hiddleston...just nowhere near as hot...

The fates intervene...

It was decided, today, by the powers that be, I was going to get nothing done because my laptop decided to start doing some very weird things. It kept dinging at me and the screen would fade slightly then come back and posts I'd made days ago were suddenly showing up, again. So I properly freaked out and backed up everything I could then shut the thing down and went to the Mac Store at Walden Galleria to look into how much a new one would cost if I needed one.
OUCH!
Just a Mac Mini with a keyboard and mouse would be $1100.00, and that's without a mac monitor. Those damn things would have doubled the price, at best. I looked at the ipad setups and none of them felt comfortable, but a new MacBook Pro that I could accept would kick me up to $2000. Shit. I can't afford any of that.
If all I needed to do was writing in Word, I could do that on my old MacBook, but it's too old for current WiFi. I have an old ipad but never got comfortable with it. I finally gave up and came home to do further investigation, if I could. And figure out how much I'd have to pay to upgrade my PhotoShop and Word, since you can no longer buy them outright.
Fortunately, when I fired up the laptop, it was back to normal and an update was due. I cleaned it with Clean my Mac and did the update and it's been working fine, the last hour or so. But it spooked me. Reality is, I could afford the Mac Mini with an after-market monitor. It would just mean digging into my savings. I'd really rather not, just yet. Not till everything's settled with my brother.
Long story short, today was shot. BUT...if anything does go wrong, I'm totally backed up on a thumb drive.

Latest draft done...

Done. Again. Wondering if I just passed over the last few chapters with few alterations because I'm tired of it. Weary of it. I've been at this book for decades and now my biggest fear is I'm just letting it go because I'd worked on it so long I just can't anymore. No idea. But tomorrow I will go through my notes, see if anything cries out to be added in, then Friday start inputting the changes.

This does count as a rewrite, since I did some serious restructuring. I moved a memory Brendan had of seeing Danny and his father arguing behind the church they attend. His father works there, and Father Demian is the priest. Brendan was eleven, at the time.

I had it happening late in the book but it felt wrong, so I shifted it to earlier, when he's first begun to notice how moody Danny has become. Both are about twelve years old and Brendan begins to suspect the priest was molesting Danny, but then Father Demian is replaced with Father Jack and everything becomes more even-keeled, for everyone.

Now, at the later point, when they're fourteen, Brendan knows the truth but also learns Danny knows he's been seeing Joanna, a Protestant girl. Brendan thought he was being clever enough to keep it a secret. Of course, Danny won't tell on him, but it's still a shock. Now the structure feels better, since this all leads up to Brendan being ordered to end the relationship, in the next to last chapter, and he decides to leave Derry, instead.

God, I have no idea if the story makes sense or reads true. I haven't for a while. I just keep trying to make it better and better. I do think it's conceivable I could publish it in January. So far my push to find an agent has only gotten me silence or rejection. So...aim to publish all three over 2024...and see how it goes.

Maybe I'll do a box set, too.

64 pages left...

If all goes well, tomorrow, I'll be done with my red pen edit of APoS-Derry and can go through my notes to add in aspects that might enhance the story. I've got plenty. I take notes from everything I can, be it CAIN or Derry of the Past or emails to people in the country and videos available on YouTube.

I've done some restructuring and cutting. There was one moment I had Brendan repeating some gossip, albeit for a good reason. He needed to find out what was going on with a friend of his who has having a crisis...but it just rang wrong for him, so I cut it. Completely. The chat they have now is disjointed, a bit, but still says what it needs to and makes Brendan think he might have hated his father over something the man could not have controlled. And it jolts him to his core.

He and Joanna catch a ride down to Dublin to look at Trinity College. She's thinking of colleges to apply to and Brendan was hoping she'd consider Trinity, but she unimpressed. She's leaning more towards Queens College, in Belfast. He hates that idea because he wants to get away from the Catholic/Protestant divide in the north. I added in a hint that the reason he gets a tattoo of her name on his shoulder is a way to nudge her to go for St. Andrews, like he wants. Rather passive-aggressive of him.

I'm also developing the suggestion he has a heart condition that is undiagnosed. He starts off with a quiet cough but in a couple of vicious situations he comes close to what seems like a heart attack. One man even tells him he needs to have it looked at, but he never does. It won't be found out till the end, just before he's sent to Houston.

So tomorrow I'm digging into the Bloody Sunday part of the story, which to Brendan turns from a pleasant Sunday into complete chaos and he sees people murdered right before his eyes. I'm treading carefully, here, and keeping it as close to the facts as possible. Making sure I haven't stepped out of line. But that's what convinces him it's time to leave Derry.

Smashwords sale July1-31

 Smashwords is having their summer sale, 1-31 July 2023, and some of my ebooks are participating, but not all. The ones which will be part of it are going to be free. Sales are weak and I want them read, and apparently the only way to get people to pay attention to your work, these days, is to put it up on Kindle Direct and deal with their crap, or offer it for free. So here are the ones I'm doing.

Carli's Kills

Bobby Carapisi

The Alice '65

The Lyons' Den

The Vanishing of Owen Taylor

Just another kind of promo that I hope will help jump-start interest in the books, again.

Brendan and Joanna...

This is after the battle of Bogside, during the celebration fleadh (party). The British Army is now patrolling the city, keeping the Protestants out.--------------------Just past one on the second day of the fleadh, I was leaning against the Free Derry gable, feeling so real and good I closed my eyes to listen to a piper playing Dreams of Galway. People still milled about and what craic I heard was happy and quick. It was like a bright new world for us all. As if we were ourselves, alone, apart from the rest of Ireland, with prayers and dreams and hopes and promises aplenty, building our world anew, and I was thinking, This is how it should always be and... 
“I know this hat!” jolted me as my cap was grabbed off my head. 
I spun around...and it was Joanna, laughing with those friends of hers. She wore bellbottoms and a light jacket, and her hair danced in the breeze as she spun about and set the cap on her head and looked so much like an angel it hurt me. 
“I’ve never seen it before,” said the girl closest to her, a round pale thing that looked like a marshmallow in her white dress, stockings and shoes. 
“In Woolworth's,” she said. “Caught him looking at us. Shy and sweet.”She pinched my cheek. I was still so shocked, I could think of nothing to say.“You’re not much of one for words, are you?” she continued, smiling. 
I glanced around. A couple people were eyeing her, frowns on their faces. She wasn’t known and would soon be asked to verify her right to be here. 
I finally found enough voice to ask, “How’d you get here?” 
“On the bus,” she said, then they dissolved into giggles. 
I kept my words soft. “But the checkpoints...” 
The marshmallow said, “I’ve a cousin lives in Ballymena so said we all lived there, and no one stopped us.” 
“Helps to bat your eyes at the soldiers, it does,” said the other friend, who resembled the pop star, Lulu, made more-so by how her face was made up. 
I realized Joanna wore only lip-gloss and a dash of powder, her skin was so clear and bright, and she had the air of mint about her...spearmint. Yes, spearmint.Like I'd been chewing to hold the glass in our windows in our old home and I grinned, stupidly, at the thought...but then I saw Jackie, Aidan, and a couple other lads from Creggan moving toward us and knew they’d be very unhappy some Protestant girls had snuck into our fleadh.
So I waved to them and said as loud as I could, “Here, Jackie, some birds I met in Claudy!” 
The Lulu said, “I’ve never been...“ 
I turned, smiling, and shot a quiet “Whist,” at her. 
Joanna caught on and turned her smile on Jackie. “We heard there’s a fleadh and came to see. It’s lovely.”Marshmallow had a bit of fear in her eyes as she nodded, unable to speak. 
Jackie wasn’t ready to accept it, yet. “What’s your name?” 
“McGillicuty,” shot out of me. “Jo, Mary and Lulu. They’re cousins...nieces of Mrs. McKenna on Little James.”
“How’d ya get in?” snarled one of Jackie’s mates, a big bruiser of a thick lad with a voice like a growling wolf. 
Joanna stepped around me and went straight to him, her smile growing near wicked as she touched his chin and said, “The soldiers are boys, just like you, and how does any girl get around them?” 
He blushed. The big bastard actually blushed. 
I huffed and put some bite into my voice. “Jo...you said you’d not do that around me.” 
She stepped back and put my cap back on my head, still smiling. “Now, don’t be such a child.” 
Lulu laughed, despite herself. 
Jackie took a look at her and his face softened. “So you’re enjoyin' yourself, then?” 
Lulu took on an attitude I couldn’t quite make out as she said, “I’ve seen no reason not to, yet.” 
Jackie reached over to her but I put myself between them, without a thought, and said, “Now Jackie, these girls aren’t of age, and I promised to keep watch over them.” 
“You?” said Thick. 
“Aye. It’s not like we have to worry about the peelers or lads from the Waterside trying to make trouble with our lasses, is it? I’m here as their...their...” 
Joanna wrapped her arm around mine and sighed, “I told my aunt we didn’t need a chaperone, but she didn’t believe us.” 
“You must be someone special," said Aidan, "for our Bren to let you wear his cap.” 
“She is,” popped out of me before I could think to stop it.She beamed at me and it was my turn to blush. 
Jackie laughed. ”Keep a good watch on 'em, Bren. Show ‘em the kind of man you are.”Then he and his mates wandered off. 
I turned to Joanna and her friends and said, “He might well check with Mrs. McKenna and be sore pissed when he finds out we lied to him. C’mon, I’ll get you to home.” 
"But we only just arrived." 
"Yeah, right, we should wander around a bit, first. Not leave too quick." 
“What about you?” Joanna asked. “Won’t he come for you?” 
“I’ll worry about that when it happens.” 
I didn't really think Jackie would care enough to do it, or even if he did he'd be hard with me. But it did make me feel quite the man about town by acting all concerned for their safety. What's best, I saw what I'm sure was a hint of respect in Joanna's eyes. 
So we listened to more music. During one, all three danced their jig and many around us clapped at good they were. We had a bite to eat and orange crush, and Lulu was after having a toffee apple, but they were in the middle of preparing a new batch so it was forgotten. It was so calm and easy and lovely.
Just as it was starting to grow chill we headed on. I said little as the girls chattered about Jackie and his mates. Lulu was quite taken with him while Marshmallow thought they were all crude and in need of a shave. Joanna just cast me a knowing smile. 
It’s funny, but me having on my NASA cap, wearing my finer clothes and escorting three girls out of the Bogside apparently gave us an aura of respectability, as Marshmallow, put it. We were asked a few short questions at the Waterloo checkpoint then allowed past. We caught a bus across from the Guildhall, grandly paid for by me, and headed back to the Waterside.We hopped off at Edward Street and headed through an area of nice semi-detached homes with gardens and flowers and nearly new cars parked in front. Some lads the girls knew were milling out and about and called to them in ways I found unpleasant, but they got ignored. We turned down a lane with no outlet and went straight to the house at the head, where I recognized the estate car in front. 
Lulu and Marshmallow scurried off to their own homes when Joanna’s mum and brother came out the door to watch us approach. She was worried; he was wary and had his eyes sharp on me. 
“Where have you been?” she asked, her voice sounding far too much like wee Eammon’s mother’s. “We’ve been looking all over for you. Who’s this with you?” 
Before Joanna could speak I said, “I’m Billie Corrie of the Fountain, ma’am. We met up in Woolworth’s, in the music. I thought it best to escort the ladies home.” And I made myself sound very grand as I said it. 
Her mother smiled, indulgently, and nodded. “Thank you, Billie. It's growing late. Would you care to join us for tea?” 
“That’d be...that’d be smashin',” I said, copying a saying from a program on the telly. 
Joanna took me to the toilet, her eyes dancing with laughter. At the basin, she made a motion of washing her hands. I grinned, pleased beyond anything that she’d remembered when first I saw her.Then I noticed her brother was watching us. That made me uncomfortable, but I did my best to ignore it.
They served a fine roast chicken, potatoes and string beans off real China, and just to show off a bit I accepted a leg and ate it using a knife and fork. They were quite impressed, and didn't seem to notice my soft cough as I prepared to make the first cut. What was even better? Her brother ate his with his fingers. And don't think Joanna and her bother didn't cast him a look or two.
Their last name was Martin, with her brother a Charles. Her father owned a menswear shop off Irish Street and her friends’ real names were Angela, for Marshmallow, and Louisa, for Lulu. They attended the same school and had been friends since forever. 
I told them of how I fixed things. Charles didn't believe me and suggested Mrs. Martin bring me a fine toaster that didn’t work on one side. I graciously said I would look at it, and it took me but a minute to see a connector had broken free. Mr. Martin had a soldering stick in his shed, so I fixed it for them, right there and at no charge. They were well-impressed, and I’d never been so proud. 
Charles continued to be worrisome, however. As I was taking the toaster apart, he mentioned, “I know a Ronald Corrie in the Fountain.” 
I just grinned and said, “That’s me uncle, and a lazier man you’ll never meet. If he even sees a speck of work to be done, he’s off the other direction.” 
Which brought a laugh from all and a near smile from himself. Still, he did not stop looking at me. 
It had begun to grow dark when I left. Joanna's Da offered to run me home, but I insisted on taking the bus. I headed off with my hands in my pockets, strutting like I had not a care in the world, even as I kept a soft watch on the lads who were still milling about. They let me pass, their eyes wary on me, but I guess I seemed too sure of myself to be thought of as a Catholic in the Protestant area. 
I was almost to the stop when I heard a car race up behind me. I spun to look and it was the estate car, with Charles driving fast at me. Some of the lads from the street were with him. He near hit me with the damned thing, trying to block me against a hedge, then they burst from the car and I was grabbed and slung around onto a fender. I hit it, hard but mainly against my hands, and a body pressed hard against me. 
It was Charles’s voice that snarled, “The bus depot. I knew I’d seen you before. You’re a bloody taig.” 
“You sure of this, Charlie?” came the other's voice. 
“He’s awful neat to be a paddy,” came as I heard more feet running up. 
“And the hat,” said the first. “Since when do papists have money enough to go to NASA?” 
“He’s a dirty fuckin’ taig, I tell youse!" he howled as he punched me in the side, near knocking the breath from me. "Sniffin’ after my sister!” 
I said nothing, just looked around and saw Charles’s mate was crowding in, so I kicked up and managed to connect with Charlie's nuts. That jolted him and startled them all, allowing me to slip out from under their grip and run.Two of the lads chased me as Charlie howled in pain and anger. 
I raced down Irish onto Spencer, saw a bus just about to pull away from the stop so ran faster and jumped aboard. It pulled away before they could catch me. It was going the wrong direction from home but I didn’t care. I rode it to Altnagelvin, then hid behind a column to see if they’d followed me. I think I saw them drive past but not pull in, so I caught another bus back to Guildhall. By then I was calm again. 
My cap on my head, I went through the checkpoints, the Army’s and our own, with little trouble then went straight home. Everything was quiet and calm. I got the feeling everyone all still over at the Fleadh. So I went into the back and sat by the herbs behind the hutch and gazed up at the stars.And let it all settle in on me. 
I’d been lucky to get away unhurt except for jab to my side. I knew that. I also knew that not once had I coughed during any of it. Nor had I cried from fear or pain or begged to be left alone. I had worked my way out of a hideous situation, all on me own. I had strutted into the middle of Protestant territory. Into the middle of the Waterside. Surrounded by my enemies. And I'd come out in one piece. Of course, Charlie would tell everyone who and what I was, so I’d be a fool to consider going back to see Joanna ever again. 
But bloody hell, wasn't she worth being a fool over?

Halfway...

Seems the halfway point worked out just right in the middle of this part of the story. It comes shortly after Brendan's family moves into their new apartment, a few months after the attack on the People's Democracy marchers at Burntollet bridge. That happens on January 4th, 1969 so the move comes in March or April. Anger is building in the Catholic community and Protestants can't see that if they'd just give in a little they could avoid the hell that was to come.

Working on this book has clued me into just how blind people can be when they want to be. And how easily manipulated. Ian Paisley caught on to the growing Protestant fear that they'd be disenfranchised if they gave Catholics any of the same right they enjoyed and used it to build a mob of thugs who loved to wreak havoc on those they didn't think could fight back. And for 45 years there had been little pushback. But with the civil rights movement, everything changed...and those in power couldn't see it. Hell, even the IRA's leadership of the time couldn't see it.

Or wouldn't. Or were too stupid to understand. Or a combination of all three. And followed 30 years of bloodshed, hate, division, lies, anger, and blame until both sides were too worn out to continue and came to a compromise. After wasting billions of pounds sterling and ruining the lives of untold more people.

Sometimes I wonder if we're slipping into a similar situation, in this country. We've got hardcore radical right wing religious nuts, like Paisley was, trying to shove their agenda down the throats of the rest of us, even as we fight back. I hope it doesn't descend into the same level of bloodshed, because over 3000 people died in those 30 years, most of them between 1970 and 1975. The population of N. Ireland was 1,500,000. That would equal to well over 600,000 dead in a country our size.

But that's about how many died in the Civil War, so it's not inconceivable.

Moving right along...

I've slipped into the smoothest part of the rewrite, now that Brendan's personality is established and his attitudes settled in. I also found the perfect spot to show him learning to use a knife and fork on a drumstick.---------- Of course, the Protestant crowd was growing more and more difficult with us. As if their threats and calling of names would stop the marches and demonstrations and actions being taken throughout the year. It's like their side believed that to give us the same as everyone meant there would be less for them. There were also many on our side who said we should just keep ourselves apart from the Unionists, completely, with the comment usually followed by something like, They cannot be trusted. So I made sure to tell all my mates...no, my Chinas that religion and politics were to be kept from my house. 
"If you don't," I said, "you're in for an hour's lecture about the history of Ireland in full detail, from my mother, and you do not want that. Believe me." 
"Yeah," said Paidrig, "get enough from the brothers, hi." 
"And priests," said Danny. 
"Father Demian treats you to history lessons, does he?" asked Colm, jostling Danny, who just shrugged and said no more. 
Fortunately, Ma never saw Billy with me, again. Which was good, because the gossip was growing about a group of Catholic boys being seen with him. 
He lives in The Fountain, don't he? It's not good for him to be mingling in with our lads. What d'ya think he's after, hi? Somethin' sneaky, that's for sure. That's a low thing to say about a child. I seen him going after Proddies with stones. He's the one with the catapult, hi? Brand new, and a good eye with it. Well, if he's firing stones at them, he can't be a bad 'un, can he? 
A lot of that gargle was due to this one time, during a July Orange Parade, Billy and me were on William Street and got caught in the middle of two gangs chucking stones at each other, one Catholic and one Protestant. I was near hit by a fair-size piece of pavement that came from my side, so I'd howled and shied it back at them, without a thought. Then I'd followed it with more. 
Billy had laughed and begun grabbing pebbles to fire at the Proddies, using that catapult. We were like loonies in the bin...till both sides had forgotten about each other and come after us.Fortunately, we were also good runners. 
I'd known Mrs. Bannon was home so we'd bolted up to her door and scurried inside, me crying, "Mrs. Bannon, we've come for tea!" 
She'd come tottering down the hall, an older lady in just her shift and apron, eyes wide and wary. "Tea," she'd asked. "What do you mean?" 
"Don't you remember, Mrs. Bannon?" I had said, full innocent. "You invited me for tea, today at...at..." This old grandfather clock of hers had shown 5:49, so I'd continued with, "six o'clock, but I'm a bit early. Sorry if that's a trouble." 
"I did?" She had started frowning at herself. 
"Surely you've not forgotten?" I'd asked. Billy was about to fall into laughing so I'd jostled him and added. "I brought a friend, Billy, with me. I hope it's all right." 
She had huffed then smiled and shrugged and said, "Come along. Seat yourselves at the table I'll have it ready in a jiff." 
So we did.And she'd fed us part of her chicken dinner, with mushy peas and carrots, with a fine Ceylon Black tea. We'd sat at the table, where I'd noticed she used a knife and fork to cut the meat off a leg. Without thinking, I'd tried to emulate her, and she had been kind enough to give me direction on how best to hold the cutlery; instead of gripping it like I was going to stab something, hold it like you were going to poke some lad's fat arse.
"It's so much nicer this way," she'd said. "Isn't it?" 
Well, it was certainly nicer than tearing it apart with your fingers, and the mechanics of it were simple. Dig the fork deep into the meat and slice between it and the bone. Carefully. Like working with a delicate telly. I'd felt very grown up being able to do it, and a bit guilty for taking some of her food away from her over a lie. 
Billy'd never said a word, just watched me and her with our finest manners. 
We'd still had a lovely chat about how glad she was we'd stopped by, despite all the noise and carry-on with the march. She also had four cats that came strolling out, one after the other, all orange tabbies, of course, and only one willing to be touched. None had tried to get on the table but instead placed themselves around her, standing at attention, almost like they were guarding her. When we'd finally left, she made us swear to come, again, and next time she'd be sure to remember inviting us. 
Billy had laughed at me the whole way home, saying over and over, "I can't believe you did that!" 
"Got us away, didn't it?" I'd said, proudly. "And well-fed." 
"Me mother's gonna wonder why I'm not hungry, now. And where I was." 
"Tell her we had tea and cakes at the Diplomat." 
"Yeah, she'll believe that. You're loop-de-loop, me China." 
"Maybe next time I'll let you get pummeled." 
"I'm faster than you in a run." 
I'd just laughed at him.
We'd crowed about our battle to Colm and Danny, the next day, and they'd told me I was mad, to which I'd answered, "I was. The bloody thing missed me by an inch. Whoever threw it should get glasses or training."
 They then refused to believe our visit with Mrs. Bannon. I didn't bother to convince them. Instead, since I had no jobs lined up, we hit up to Long Tower and had a fine game of footy.

Family stuff of my own...

My youngest brother, Kelly, just moved into a new apartment from a cheesy little trailer on the east side of San Antonio. It's a lot better than where he was, right next to a Target and WalMart. He's getting financial assistance from the city for his rent, too. That's taken a few phone calls and back and forth with him as well as my nephew, who's the one really getting things done. Me being 1600 miles away is rather limiting.

Still, it takes focus away from what I'm doing here. My hope is this will be nicely settled by the end of the week and I can be easy, again. He's never been the easiest person to get to do things for himself. He needs a steady push, but careful so he doesn't get to feel like he's being treated like a child. 

In a bookend situation that only seems to happen in novels, Kelly and I were born with health issues, some pretty severe. I managed to grow out of mine enough to function like a normal person, though I do sometimes think I'm an undiagnosed dyslexic who's worked out how to cope with it on my own. Not easily, and I still take longer to write because I keep reversing letter and numbers and leaving out entire words...but I recognize it as I go and do what I can to correct it, then.

Anyway, I'm my mother's first child and Kelly is her last, while my middle brother and sister were born fine. Developed normally. None of the quirks Kelly and I have. He turned out to be wired up different from the rest of us but functioned well-enough. He's always had minimum wage jobs in grocery stores and convenience stores and apartment maintenance but they've done fine for him. However, now he's older and his abilities have deteriorated while his cognitive processes have become limited, so he doesn't have what people want to hire, anymore.

At least he's going to get early Social Security when he hits 62, this coming January, and maybe Medicade. Which will take a huge financial burden off me, finally. I've been his main source of income for the last ten years...and it's been rough. But he never had to worry about living on the street, thanks to additional help from my sister.

So tomorrow I go back to APoS and Brendan's march to his destiny.