Kyle Michel Sullivan's Blog: https://www.myirishnovel.com/, page 71

Climbing back on the horse...

I went through one of my usual downer moods and did absolutely no writing or rewriting yesterday or the day before. Instead, I worked online trying to help on the disaster of the Nova Kakhovka dam's destruction on the Dnipro River in Ukraine. It's still unfolding and there's word Russia destroyed another dam in Ukraine. There's not much I can do from Buffalo, and because of my age, but direct people to places where they can donate money and things to go to the country. If anyone wants to do so, here's a link to Timothy Snyder's Twitter page and 10 places that are working for Ukraine.

On a positive note, Ukraine's counter-assault is underway and it is going to be bloody. Hideous. But all you can to is hope Putin is deposed ASAP and Russia withdraws back to the 1991 borders she agreed to. I doubt that will happen and it apppears this war will go on for years until Russia backs down, like she did in Afghanistan.

It's funny and a bit shallow of me, but I'm angry with Moscow for invading Ukraine partly because I loved Russian literature. Anna Karenina, War & Peace, The Brothers Karamazov, Crime and Punishment...I was entranced by the whole idea of man trapped in his fate. I even used Chekov's short story, Champagne, for a short script that actually impressed my screenwriting teachers at UT. Now? I've learned so much about Russia's hideous past...not just under communism but also the Tsars...that I cannot see her culture as anything but horrifying.

I did manage to get back to work, this morning, and restructure the first three chapters, a bit. Not a huge amount. Just made it a case of having things happen instead of Brendan only telling us what happened. Like how he met his friends -- Colm, Danny, Paidrig, wee Eammon, Billy and Gerry. Made it more natural and easy-going...and added a good 5 pages to the chapter. But it's more immediate, now.

At least #45 was indicted and Pat Robertson died, this week. Two evil men who deserve hell. I wish I believed in it so I'd know Robertson was down there and The Orange One will join him, some day.

Continuation...

 Yesterday's post continued and added to:

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We were climbing back up the hillside to my house when Danny said, "You're in a better temper, now." 

I shrugged. "Wasn't I, before?" 

"Naw. Quiet. Even for you. Like your mind's a hundred miles off." 

I stopped halfway up the hill and looked at my house. No light was on. I turned around. "I want another smoke, but I haven't any. Let's go back to -- " 

"Here." 

He let me have one of his and I fired it up and stood there, looking out over the Bogside. Over the fading light. Finally, the darkness, the growing darkness. With nightfall, I knew I'd be fine, again. Happy, again. Something icy was caught in my chest. Something empty. I needed space and silence and nothingness to let it drift away. So I said nothing.

Danny kept quiet. For a moment I got the feeling he was going through something similar. Maybe as bad as myself, maybe not, but him not saying a word was the best thing he could have done for me.By the end of the smoke, the light was far enough gone to let me be completely at ease. 

I asked, "Have you seen Colm, today?" 

"Naw, he's off with those new lads. Him and Paidrig. No idea where they are. Who they are. Why?" 

I shrugged and smiled at him. "You'll always be me China, won't ya?" 

He smiled back, but with a bit of wariness. "'Course, Bren. And you, mine." He looked back over the Bogside, swaying a little. "It's nice, here. The city's quiet and you can tuck your thoughts away to worry over, later." I nodded. I could hear a smile in his voice. "You understand what I mean. I don't think Colm ever could. He's too caught in his...what'd he call it once? Forward movement?" 

I chuckled. "Sounds American." 

He smiled. "That's our Colm, always with the latest. When's Eamonn back?" 

I had no idea so just shrugged, then asked, "You thirsty?" He shrugged a sort of yes. I grinned. "Y'know, I got a pound on me, still. What you say we find out if some old sport'll pop in the off-license and get us a little something? To drink." 

"I don't think a pound's enough for the both of us," said Danny. Then he cast me a wicked side glance. "Let's to my house." 

I shrugged and we went. 

His was a nice maisonette in fair shape down the hill from mine. Mold on the whitewashed walls and chipped sills and stoops, without, but in through the green door you'd find a well-kept parlor with a small prayer corner next to the hearth, cushioned chairs and two lamps around a low table. Pictures adorned the walls and throw carpets covered the floor. A telly was in the corner nearest the window, its rabbit ears extended with tinfoil. 

We said hello to his mother, who was focused on some cooking show on the telly so barely noticed us. 

"Valium," said Danny. 

"Wow," I said. "Y'know, I can copy me Ma's signature. You think we could get some for wee Eammon's?" 

"I think ya gotta see the doctor first." 

Then we were up to his small room...where he had a plush bed to himself, table and lamp beside it, a wardrobe and a narrow desk with a wooden chair. Posters of The Rolling Stones and Lulu and the like were pinned to his walls, and atop the wardrobe was a row of books...that hid three Tennant Nips bottles. He handed me one.

"How'd you get these?" I asked. 

"Da's. Didn't notice I lifted them. He forgets how much he's had to drink, at times." 

So we sat down and started up the radio and finished off his pack of Blues and each had a bottle as we just listened to song after song after song. Not saying a word. I didn't get home till well after everyone was to bed. 

The next morning, it being Sunday, I slept through Mass. But then Mai worked a full fry-up, the smells of which brought me bolting downstairs fast, I was so perished from the hunger. But the moment Ma saw me, she tossed what was to be my plate on the floor, breaking it. That it was one that was already chipped and cracked, I noticed. Of course, that set Kieran to wailing. 

Mai’s sigh of, “Ma, it’s a sin to waste food,” didn't begin to make her sorry for it, while Rhuari just looked at her as Maeve asked, “But how’s he to eat it, Ma?” 

“Hush and finish your breakfast,” she snapped. Then she shook Kieran and said, “Be still or I’ll give you cause to cry.” Of course, he couldn’t be, so she pulled him up from the chair and swatted his rear. He shut up, startled.

Silence smothered the room. It was the first time she'd struck him in any way. She almost looked flustered.

Without thinking, I added to it when I glared at her and muttered, "Beating a baby." 

Now they all looked at me, in shock. Which made me grin. Then just to be a maggot, I sat cross-leg on the floor and ate very bit of that fry-up I could manage with my fingers. Like a dog eating its vomit, but with more care to avoid the broken plate.

There was not a word from any of them, though a wary glint came Ma's eyes. I had to fight a laugh. If she thought me simple, before, now she was sure to think me mad. And I loved it. Might give her pause, the next time she thinks to lay hands on me.

Shifting...

Officially, this is chapter 6 in the story. Brendan is twelve, and this part happens just after he's had a vicious argument with his mother. For the first time he's yelled back at her in front of people, and she's bloodied him. They're in front of their home, and not one of the witnesses does anything to stop the beating, infuriating him. It takes Mairead coming from inside to draw his mother away, and he is left alone as everyone else goes back home. And this infuriates him.

---------

Danny and wee Eammon showed up, just then, to find me standing alone across the lane from my door. Doing nothing. Just standing. By this point, my lip was no longer bleeding. I'd wiped my face with my sleeve. My shirt was black so blood didn't show on it. I looked as if I'd just grown lost in one of my thoughts.

Which was truth. Having seen the same rage in my mother as I'd seen in Da, so many times, I finally understood they had been perfect for each other. A perfect match between growling animals and I had no idea what to make of it.

"Ready for us, me China?" Danny asked, his voice wary. 

I nodded and turned and we walked down through the waste land to Fahan and Waterloo, to find what sport we could in Guildhall Square. There wasn't much, with this demonstration. Just more loud voices and demands made, but they had begun to seem all the same and a bit tedious. We stayed for a long enough while, paying little attention to the crowd or speakers, just smoking Blues and saying naught.

Then we had our tea at a chippy. Danny and I let wee Eammon share in ours...more mine, really, for I wasn't so very hungry, and eating hurt my lip. After, we wandered along the Strand and the docks till half eight. That's when we dropped wee Eammon off to his Ma's, in the Flats. 

She was not happy he'd been out so long, and never mind he'd been with us. She smelled the fags on us was sure we were trying to kill him, if not from the asthma then letting him starve to death, and she would not hear of him actually having eaten. He just cast us a look of thanks before we were escorted out and the door slammed behind us. 

We heard her saying, "I don't want you around those two, anymore!" 

"Ma, they're me friends, and Brendan -- " 

"Enough! The trial that Brendan is to his mother is bad enough, and he's happy to make you one for me!"

 Their voices grew too muffled to hear more. 

Danny sighed. "I'm glad me Ma's not like that." He winked at me. "She's on tranqs. Maybe we should ask NHS to give some to wee Eammon's." 

I just nodded and turned, not even trying to smile. I was numb to her words. I leaned against the railing and pulled out my last Blue. As I lit it, I heard barking, from below. In the twilight, I saw a pack of dogs chase a yellow tom cat across the courtyard. It tried to escape them, but they managed to surround it in a corner and were howling and snarling and lunging as the cat hissed and spit and clawed at them. I held my breath. Five...no, six against one. I figured the cat was dead. For while I wanted something to throw down to stop them, I had nothing, and the elevator was slow. 

Danny noticed the beasts and sighed. "I've seen that one chased a few times," he said. "Not a pleasant creature. Looks like he's finally been caught." 

"It's not fair, is it?" I murmured. "A pack like that against one." 

"It's nature's way." 

"Yeah...I guess. Would that it were not so..." 

I watched the mongrels grow closer and closer to the tom, having their fun. Lunging. Snapping. Near grabbing his tail, once. He still spat and hissed and scratched, giving no hint of surrender. I wanted to turn away, but I couldn't. I felt it would be dishonorable. 

Closer they grew. 

Louder. 

Angrier. 

People walked wide to avoid it, doing nothing to help or hinder. Like with me.

I felt a despair grow within. And anger. At everything. At nothing. Finally, I flicked the last of my Blue down at the howling beasts. To my shock, it twisted and spun and landed on one dog's arse. The mongrel yelped and turned and the others hesitated and... 

Suddenly, the tom spun into a howling mass of fur and claws, startling the dogs. Yelps and howls and whines and cries of pain and soft whimpers...and poof -- the cat was gone. 

"Jesus, Bren, did you see that?" Danny whispered.

I nodded, grinning, really fucking proud of myself, though it was pure luck the Blue had traveled as it did. "Never count yourself down, eh?" 

"I guess not," he said, then fired up his own fag. 

I didn't want to move. I wanted to stand there, in homage. Watch the dogs wander around, hurt and confused. How could it have gotten away? They had beaten the little beast, they knew it, but it had outdone them. They'd get no second go at it...and nothing could have pleased me more than to have witnessed it. I actually started to laugh, even though it hurt my lip.

I looked up and across at the Guildhall, sitting solid and uncaring. A symbol of all that was wrong in Derry. A Catholic town controlled by Protestants without a care for those who'd been here a thousand years before them. Beyond it, the Foyle whispered past, giving no thought to our pettiness and obscene behaviors. Nature's way was to let the strong destroy the weak? That tom had proven it a lie. No matter how badly you seem to have lost, you could still beat your tormentors. 

Then wee Eammon's Ma burst out the door, howling, "Why are you standing there, smoking? He's got asthma, you know? Are you trying to kill him?" 

"Ma, I'm fine," came from within. 

I sighed, saluted her, then Danny and I headed for the elevator. I had a pound still on me, and I wanted a drink and another smoke. But my mood was lighter. 

The strong destroy the weak? Like bloody hell.

Better and smoother...

The moodiness of yesterday pretty much drifted away by the time I woke this morning. I had some bizarre dreams about a 747 and running from one of the of the airport to another only to find I had to go back and there were no planes...and that's about all I remember.

It seems the first four chapters of APoS are the ones demanding the biggest adjustments. Now I'm slipping through much easier, with minimal red pen happening, half of which are to correct a typo or note where a word is missing or I've somehow repeated a sentence in the body of a paragraph. Just plain sloppy.

Brendan's more out of his shell and sees Joanna for the first time. He's just helped Mr. O'Faelan repair his taxi by the bus depot and is trying to wash the oil and muck off him with some snow when she appears with her mother and brother. The two of them exchange looks and Brendan is done for. But she's Protestant and Mr. O'Faelan gives Brendan a gentle warning about expectations.

Except that night, Brendan cannot help but think about her and has his first erection...and finds himself in severe pain. He has phimosis and has to be circumcised. He's already known as the Jew-boy of the neighborhood because of how he is with money, and now it's even more-so. He points out Scots are tighter with their cash, but no one pays any attention.

I had though about shifting a lot of this deeper into the story. Things Brendan refers to at times when current events remind him...but that doesn't seem to be the way the story wants to be told. Lay the groundwork and then get things going. It's not all that deep into the book. Maybe 50-60 pages, once formatted, and then events start swirling around him.

I'm sort of torn between the screenplay rule that you have to grab them by page 10...which lately seems to have become page 3...and keep it going fast. But this is a book, and I'm not emulating something written by Stephen King, so I think I can take some time.

I hope.

Moodiness...

Woke up this morning completely out of sorts, with the beginning of a psoriatic headache and bleary attitude that did not bode well. I grumbled about till nearly 2, fighting the headache back to niggling but not painful, twice, before I was able to get myself in gear to work on APoS. It's still there, but merely irritating.
I rewrote the section where Brendan makes friends with Colm and Danny, and I think it plays a lot more naturally. Eamonn drags six-year-old Brendan with him as an excuse to get into the house of Colm's aunt. Their upstairs windows overlook the pitch where Derry City football team plays, and he knows Colm's father, Mr. O'Faelan, watches when there is a home game. Eamonn doesn't care about all that; he has a crush on one of Colm's cousins, who lives there. So he tells everyone Brendan wants to watch the match.
Which he doesn't. Brendan's sole interest is in rebuilding and repairing things, and he's irritated he's dragged away from replacing the wheels on a Corgi toy. So while Eamonn is trying to make time with the girl, Brendan is bored and starts criticizing how the football teams are playing. It's almost like taking apart a clock to repair, to him, as he gains a quick idea of the two teams' strategies and can tell what their play will be, from moment to moment.
Danny and Paidrig are also there, watching. They know of Brendan but have never spoken to him thanks to his reputation for being standoffish to the point of loony. But his observations prove to be true and even convince Mr. O'Faelan to call his bookie and bet on Derry City to win. Brendan points out the opposing team's goalie consistently sets himself up wrong, and half the time the only reason a goal isn't made is due to a poor kick or relay.
This starts the boys on a longterm friendship, which helps protect Brendan from some neighborhood bullies and brings him out into the world. He still like to take things apart and put them back together, but it's no longer his only meaning, and now he'll be ready to see Joanna and find a new dream for his life.

Started in...

Going through APoS for the umpteenth time with a red pen to cut back on the non-stop chatter and finding it's harder than I thought it'd be. I've gone through the opening and first chapter, setting up the time, situation, and Brendan's family...but he insists on still meandering about somewhat in his memories. Guess the structure is going to remain a linear/non-linear style, as if he is telling it to someone, verbally, and thinking of moments to add as he goes along.

I have removed a fair amount of repetition and him being too aware of what people really are like. I'm still having a tug of war over the idea that Brendan's Da never told his kids the stories he tells in the pubs while caging drinks off the patrons. That doesn't really make sense but at the same time it almost does, if he only wants to use those stories and songs he sings in order to get drunk.

I still haven't worked out why he's a brute of an alcoholic. I know it can be part of a person's DNA, to have an addictive personality, but I keep getting the feeling he wants to have a reason and to be understood. I have notes about him killing a priest who molested him as a child in an orphanage...but that's simplistic and too on the nose.

It also has to work in with why Ma is so tight and protective of him, even though he's beaten her. That can't be simply battered woman syndrome or a masochistic need to be punished. Those are too easy and don't explain her obvious love for him. Brendan catches on that it's a form of sickness between the two, sort of a can't-live-with-'em-can't-live-without-'em connection. But she also works at elevating her dead husband to a martyr's level, and that denotes something more deeply entrenched in her about him.

Love is not always merely love.

Back to life...

Taking time away from writing proved rewarding, in many ways. And irritating in others. I was able to separate myself from a need to produce something now, now, now and the guilt that accompanied not being able to because it became so overwhelming a need...I was achieving nothing but chaos and confusion. So for the last week I've been hearing suggestions about A Place of Safety that lead it back to being a story about a boy caught in an impossible time, and keep it away from any overripe melodrama.

Brendan's not a typical Derry boy. He doesn't play marbles or run around with other boys or even really pay attention to the children in his neighborhood. He likes tinkering with things. Fixing them. Gets satisfaction from that and thinks other activities aren't worth his interest. He's got a focus that is almost scary, and is only occasionally broken when something truly important cuts into it...or he's forced to step out of it.

His younger brother Rhuari has some of that in him, too, but his deals with reading and finally learning Gaelic. He also just does things to get along, without hassle, while Brendan can get taken up in stubbornness. The kind that settles into, I want to do this or that and see no reason not to, so I will. Which is what usually gets him into serious trouble with his mother.

That's part of the reason he gets so focused on Joanna. He senses in her a person who will pay him real attention, accept him as he is and not just be an annoyance. She jolts him out of his little bubble so that when they finally do connect, face to face, he locks in on her to the point of where he begins making decisions about himself based on what she might or might not do...which leads to disaster.

I'm printing up a copy of the last draft of Derry to go through and make notes in a red pen. Hard not to see those as you input changes. I'm going to pull back as much as I can from the bluster and sweep and historical aspect of the story...something I was getting to caught up in, myself...and try to make it a simple tale about a young man who just wants to live his life.

Which is all Brendan ever wanted.

Taking a break...again...

I'm taking a break from writing, completely, totally and absolutely. I can't even get up the enthusiasm to write a gay sex scene, let alone a story about a kid just trying to live his life. I'm not returning till June 1st. Just gonna read, till then.

Finally...

Okay, The Lyons' Den is done, in paperback, and should soon be available through Amazon, B&N and BAM! The second proof came via a link in an email, today, and everything looked great in the text but the cover was still problematic. I'd look at where their crop marks were on the pdf of the full cover and it should have been fine, but looking at their sample of how the front cover would crop showed they were trimming it more narrowly than I'd thought.
I expanded the image to where it almost bleeds off the edges, and i will never do this semi-bleed, again. That was better, so I uploaded it, again. And when it came back in proof (very quickly, I might add) that took care of the issue. Of course, I'd also used the redo to neaten up the front guy's tit and remove some awkward pasting I'd done at his shoulder and his waist, since it had become more obvious, so I'm happy.
Next on the agenda is finding out more about how Ingram handles their ebooks. I set it up with them for that, as well, while still keeping the Smashwords ebook. Might be a bit of overkill, but we'll see.
Shifting Carli's Kills to KDP has done nothing for it and is, in fact, hurting sales. I may shift it back to Ingram. It's already set up, I think, so all I may need to do is give them the okay.
I've settled on The Prussian as the subheading for this section of Blood Angel, and right now it's up to over 13,400 words.

Oops...

I finally got a proof for the paperback version of The Lyons' Den...and promptly found some issues. The cover had a couple of black spots in the corners and along the bottom edge. The trim was being cut farther out than I expected, so I had to fix that.
I also noticed I'd started to put the photographer's name on the copyright page and stopped. Not cool. I mean, it's on the cover but I like to do it there, too, but not completing it looked inconsistent, because I've done it on my other books.
Last of all, the odd numbers weren't centered at the bottom of their pages. But even after knowing about it, the numbers on the Word doc looked fine. Same for the PDF. It took me a few minutes to figure out the margin was wrong on the odd pages in the footer, only. By two spaces. Easy to fix, but irritating that I didn't see it earlier.
So I uploaded everything, again, and am going through the queue to get a new proof. Hopefully, this one will be in good shape. Never had these issues, before. However, now the paperback won't be out till near Memorial Day.
Today was spent at the office, dealing with prepping export licenses. I also booked another job in Connecticut, immediately after the one in Tampa, so changed my flight and arrangements. Going Buffalo to Tampa to Hartford back to Buffalo. Bing, bang, boom. Gonna be rough but I'll be happy to get the money. It's obvious I won't win the lottery anytime soon.
Yesterday, I wrote a 2000 word section where Leonides catches a deserter who's killed an old man. He's stealing the dead man's clothes. Léon grabs him, washes him in a nearby river then rapes him and feeds on him, to the death. It's going at the beginning, which establishes just how brutal Léon can be, and I think will add tension to the whole interaction between Léon and Franz. I'm keeping in mind my lead character is a bloodsucker as well as a father fucker.
Just doing what I can to keep the balance.