Kyle Michel Sullivan's Blog: https://www.myirishnovel.com/, page 86

NaNo is a No-Go...

Another job got added onto the job in NY, so I didn't get home till today. This job was in Vermont and entailed bringing the shipment back with me to Caladex to pack. It wasn't exactly extensive, just delicate and requiring better care than usual. And it was way upstate in an area with no cell phonage or even GPS. But I did have a supervisor to make sure everything was well-organized.

I was smart enough to keep the trip up on my phone so could just reverse that to get back to a place that would work for me. If you want to see video of part of the drive, check it out on Facebook. But listen with low or no sound; that road is miles long and only packed gravel. It be loud.

So...it was 45 minutes to get to the second location's site, from my hotel. Then I still had to pack the books and daguerrotypes well-enough for transport, which took just over an hour, and hit the road. And it never ceases to amaze me how tired you can get from just driving. Sitting in a car and aiming it while it's on cruise-control.

Well, when I was able to use the cruise. Seems the back roads of Vermont are traveled by people in Subarus who go 5 mph UNDER the speed limit. Didn't have that issue on the back roads of NY. Quite the opposite; I wasn't speeding enough for many of them. It is pretty country, however, Montpelier is a truly ugly town.

So after unloading everything, turning in the car, and packing the shipment -- three double-walled boxes -- I didn't get home till 5pm. I was going to make a burger...only a wave of weariness swept over me so I nuked my dinner. Healthy Choice Steamer of Teriyaki Beef and veggies. And sat at my window and ate and vegged.

No writing done, nor much thinking for APoS. But I am definitely not doing NaNoWriMo. That's all I need is another book to finish, right now.

Not done, yet...

 

Off to a job, tomorrow, so no more writing will be done till I get back. It's a long drive there and I'm getting too old for this kind of work because it exhausts me. I can use the money, of course, which is why I still do it, but eventually I just won't be able to.

Anyway, I'm currently working on the Bloody Sunday section and that has to be exactly right so I'm not rushing it. After that is Brendan taking Joanna to the circle fort and then deciding to leave Derry, forever...both pretty intense...

I guess I can still do NaNoWriMo if I push it, but I've got the second part of this job the second week of November, in NYC, for three days...so I may pass. I'm pretty much written out and this book is taking a toll. I just want to read something light and fluffy.

What was nice about reading Mrs. 'Arris Goes to Paris was seeing how Paul Galico skimmed over so much and yet still built somewhat interesting characters...and enjoying how much better the new film version is.

I also read Once Upon a Tome by Oliver Darkshire about his time at Henry Sotheran's, in London, as an apprentice and then antiquarian bookseller. Very light and easy and pleasant, and he's got a lot of wit behind his style.

So right now I'm building a headache so am signing off and won't be signing on again till Thursday night, at the earliest. Maybe the trees are still turning so I can get some nice photos of Fall colors to share.

Inventive Brendan...

What I worked on, today, in APoS. This is after the broken-up march at Magilligan Strand in January 1972, a week before Bloody Sunday:------
Danny and I guided Colm back to a bus and hopped on. As it filled with wet and angry people, I used an American bandana he had to work up a sling of a sort so it didn't just hang at his side. Done in blue and white, it was, and looked fine against his tan Anorak. 
"You should get this to a doctor," I said. "X-rays and a splint..." 
Colm shook his head. "That could be used in evidence against me, if they want to make a case for rioting." 
Danny chuckled. "Like they need evidence for that." 
Colm had to nod in agreement. "I know someone I can get to check it. No worries." 
The bus headed back for Derry, and Danny stayed on it with us so I asked him, "Where you lodging?" 
"I'm not. I told you..." 
Colm shook his head. "After this, you'll be lucky to get away without being snatched. Better you come with me." 
"Let's to my place," I said. "You can stay there. Clean up. Leave off in the morning, once all is clear." 
"But your ma?" Danny asked. 
I huffed. "She likes you, and Eamonn's not around so you can sleep in the hutch. The both of you." 
Danny gave me a crooked grin. "And miss another day's classes? Oh, Brendan, how could I ever?" 
Even Colm chuckled at that, and from there we only talked about the lovely sport of the broken up demonstration.
The bus let us off at Guildhall and we headed for the checkpoint at William. 
"Do you have some smokes, Colm?" I asked. 
"Just two packs," he said, wary. 
"Marlboros?" He nodded. "That should be enough." 
And normally would have been, but the checkpoint was manned by a pack of very angry soldiers, none of whom I'd seen before. Save one...maybe. They slammed us against a wall, telling us to put our hands up on it and to spread our legs so they could maul us with full abandon. But Colm couldn’t raise his hurt arm. 
A Sergeant grabbed it to look closer at his injury, making him cry out from the pain. 
"What's this?" he snarled at Colm. "Bloody rioter?" He started to rip Com's Anorak off, causing even more pain to him. 
I was still in control, for we were outside, not in a room, so gave a small laugh and shot in with, “Me mate? Rioting? Couldn't throw straight to save himself. He was just playin’ the cod, is all." 
“Shut the fook up, ye fookin’ taig.” 
I shrugged. “Call me what you want, but I was workin' on a car, at McClosky’s, and me mate went actin’ stupid and got under it to play and kicked it off its block. This is from the rear wing hittin' him as it fell. Me boss tied his arm and it took the three of us to set the car right.” 
"On a Sa'ruday?" 
"Who said it happened today?" 
“Ye fookin’ liar! Ye fix cars? A nobody like yerself?” 
I snorted, this time. “I can fix any car there is!” 
He smiled at me, cold and hard. “Yeah? I got a Defender leaks oil. Nobody can tell me why. All the seals are good and no cracks in the block. What the fookin' shite is wrong wit’ it?” 
“What’s the year?” 
“...Sixty-one.” 
“Model” 
“S-4.” 
“Is the head tight?” 
“’Course it fookin’ is.” 
“Sure of that? If you put a normal jointing on, it needs to twice be turned, to be sure. I used double joints and compounds when I fixed Dr. Wiler’s; went hard on the fastening. Colm helped me with the last turn of the spanner, didn't ya?” 
Then I noticed that one ugly mug who looked familiar was running his hands up and down Colm, slow and grabby. But me China stayed cold as ice and said, without hesitation. “It was bloody hard. Bloody thing won’t come off without major surgery, for certain.” 
“Hasn’t had a leak since,” I said, making myself smile. 
Christ, that bastard groping Colm looked more and more familiar. 
Another soldier came up. “What 'bout a Volvo 122? Shifter comes out the gear box.” 
“That’s the bloody car’s design," I said, keeping my voice light. "Put it back in and screw it closed, is all you need do.” 
“Not what me mechanic said. Needs doin’ just right, fasten down just right. Glove repositioned.” 
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, and how much’d he hit you for?” 
“...Ten quid.” 
“Each time?” 
“I...I didn’t say it was more’n once.” 
I saw that same bastard was now shifting to Danny, and I was growing wary. I had to make myself chuckle. “Next time it comes out, put it in yourself and see what happens.” 
“So you do know cars.” It was a Sergeant speaking, from behind me. 
I shrugged. "I fix things." 
That soldier began his mauling, up one of Danny's legs, grinning and growling like a hyena, then shoving his hand up around Danny's arse and Danny was growing tighter and tighter and his fingers were digging into the bricks and this was going to go so bad...it was going to go so bad...and...and I caught it. He was the same bastard who'd fingered my arse, a few weeks back.
Danny started to shake, his fingers digging tighter against the wall. Oh, shite, oh, shite, oh, shite. 
But then I noticed some older women in the queue, glaring at the fat bastard and without a thought suddenly barked, "What the fuck is this? You stickin' your thumb up my arse isn't enough, you wanna do it to me mate, too? Lookin' for dreams to wank off to, when you're alone?" 
And I was loud with it. 
The bastard spun to me, snarling, "What the fook're you sayin'?" 
I noticed other ladies were casting glances our way so grew louder. "What the fuck, yourself, arsehole. It's not enough you grab my bollocks and stick your nose up me arse, you're gonna do it to all of us? Fuckin' poofter! Gettin' your jollies off goin' up boys' jacksies?!" 
The bastard howled and punched me in the kidney and fuck did it hurt. I cried out. He grabbed the collar of my coat suddenly I'm back in Strand Road and I just know I'm going into that fucking room, again, and hours of that shite and that added to my gasps of pain and I was close to whimpering...
But that queue of women heard me. 
They heard me. 
Saw what the bastard was doing. Saw him hit me. And they began spitting furious curses on the man. Words I'd never heard come out of a woman before, not even Mrs. Keogh when she was in a lather. Spitting at all of them. Beginning to close in on them. 
"What're you doing to them boys, you cunts?" 
"You bastards gonna try anything with them?" 
"Big fucks with toy guns beating up on little lads?" 
"Motherfuckin' bastards!" 
"Keep your fookin' paws to yerselves, ya sick fucks." 
Colm burst out with, "That fookin' bastard groped me! An' he was grabbing me mate's arse. Me mate's an altar boy! Never a stitch of trouble to him and this ape's gonna drag him off for his sick fun!" 
Oh, did the ol' cows howl even more. Poofters and Homos and Nancy Boys, and I'd swear I heard a few cocksuckers in there. It was glorious. Others began to come over, from Waterloo, both men and women, to see what the noise was about. 
The paras started to get nervous and now held their weapons at the ready, in case this hoard of middle-aged ladies took it upon themselves to attack. If I hadn't been so winded by the bastard's punch, I'd have laughed at the cowardice in them.
But then I looked at Danny...and while he was still in position, staring at the wall as if frozen, his fingers still digging into the brick, he was also still shaking and breathing hard and sharp. Like I had been...in that room...for hours...and I started begging in my mind, Please, Danny, please don't let go, not yet, not now. Please.

Talking too much, too soon...

I was so sure I was rocking along with APoS's fourth draft, it decided to kick me in the shins. Nothing harsher, fortunately, but enough to pay attention. By focusing on Brendan's emotional connections with the bits of this draft, I got lost in the lead-up to when his sister, Mairead, and her husband leave Derry for Toronto. It causes a huge rift in the family, and brings the worst of Brendan's mother out.
She's become something of a Republican fanatic in bits and steps, but when Mairead pushes for the move after Brendan and Turleigh are arrested and physically abused during the arrests under internment, Ma works Eamonn up into a fury over their departure. Sees it as cowardice. But Mai fires back that he and the IRA had run off and left them to be abused by the British and it gets harsh.
What's more, Brendan is scarred by his interrogation but doesn't really recognize the signs until after he, Danny and Colm are almost arrested after the demonstration at Magilligan Strand, a week before Bloody Sunday. He's sharp enough to help them avoid it, but afterwards comes close to collapse in front of his two best mates, both of whom are startled at how calm and cool he was when facing down British troops at a checkpoint.
I don't have this completely right, yet. This chapter. It's still just sort of there because what I had already written was skating past all of this. But it's at this point, just weeks before his 16th birthday, that he figures out he cannot trust his mother about anything, and that his brother, whom he'd idolized, is easily manipulated...and now aspects of his father's brutality are showing up in Eamonn. It's along in here he knows he wants to leave Derry as soon as he can; all he's waiting for is Joanna to decide where she's going for university.
And he has a horrible feeling she might decide on Queen's college, in Belfast, and he doesn't know what he will do if she does...because that's just as bad if not worse for Catholics.

Darian's Point, Vol. One - The Beginning

I'm not going to do Robert's Wife for NaNoWriMo . I'm going to work on the very first part of Darian's Point, which I have not written but only outlined. This is my Irish horror story about harpies that live in the Cliffs of Moher and come out during storms to feed on fish in the sea. Except every 100 years, a young man is sacrificed to them as part of a pact they made with the Clan Ui Briuin 30 Centuries ago.
I wrote a screenplay for part of the story many, many years ago and won awards for it. Almost got it sold. That part was set in 1910, when the harpies break the pact and try to kill the last man in the Ui Briuin line. I almost got it sold and produced. Had a director who liked it. Producers at a company that had development deals with Irish production houses and funding pushed for it. But it got turned down by the head of the company because he already had an Irish script and didn't want another one. That's how arbitrary film can be.
I wrote a followup, set in modern times, where the last young man in the Ui Briuin bloodline suffers a catastrophic loss and decides to kill himself by jumping off the Moher Cliffs. But things don't exactly go that way, and he decided to face his demons. Literally. So those two parts just need to be novelized.
In each one, the story of how the harpies were formed is told, but each time it's a bit different...and not really correct. My thought was to bring them out in reverse order. The modern one, first, then the 1910 one, then the original showing what actually happened is very little like the stories passed down through time. I may, still.
I'm only able to do this because I will be done with this draft of APoS by the end of October. My jobs in NY state and NYC are set, still, but they're looking to be fairly easy. It's just the driving in the first one that will be a chore. Still...I'm feeling good about it.

Aiming to be done by November...

Okay, I'm up to the trip Brendan and Joanna take to Dublin, which leaves about 150 pages to rewrite. When I'm done, I'm going to print it out, again, and this time go through all my notes and information to cross reference before doing the last draft.

I'm thinking of making a book out of an outline I once did for a script -- Robert's Wife. Thing is, I don't know what it's about, yet; I just have it written out. Here's the beginning of what I have...

-------------------

ROBERT Van WARREN (50, better looking than he thinks) wakes on a beautiful morning and rises to take a shower. After a moment, his wife, ANNE (a lovely woman twenty years his junior) joins him and they make love. They are gentle but intense with each other, the steam curling around them and adding to their excitement. 

When done, Robert and Anne discuss their plans for their vacation. "Where do you want to go?" asks Anne. 

"I've never been to Paris." 

"Isn't that expensive?" 

"Money means nothing when I'm with you." 

They almost make love, again, but Robert has a lunch date with Smith Corley, an important client and must finish preparing for it. 

"Isn't he beneath you?" Anne asks, joking. 

Robert chuckles and says, "My father's very words...even after Smith placed twenty million with us."

Anne suggests he could still arrive late to the office, but Robert is adamant. "When your name is on the building, people expect a thousand times more." 

She reminds him they are attending a gala art opening with friends, that night. Robert promises not to be late but only if they can leave early. 

"The Van Warren Company" is an elegant but low-key building in Beverly Hills and the few employees are dressed to business-like perfection. Robert enters and his assistant, JACKIE (pretty in a "Vogue Big Girls" kind of way), meets him to discuss which clients are happy, which are unhappy, whose portfolio is in decline and needs attention, and an upset client named PENELOPE MARSH is on her way over. 

"I couldn't talk her out of it," says Jackie. 

"I know what it's about," Robert replies. "I'll see her soon as she gets here." 

"And your father called from New York; he's been trying to reach you. Since eight a-m. Eastern time." 

Robert nods, tosses off responses on how to handle the few problems without hesitation, takes Penelope's portfolio and enters his immaculate office. The instant Robert's door is closed, he goes to his desk, takes one of the five pencils perfectly lined up on it...and deliberately snaps it in half. He snaps another and another and another. Finally, he sits at his desk to caress a glamorous photo of Anne with a hairstyle that almost seems old-fashioned, then calls his father, STEPHEN AMBROSE Van WARREN, III. 

Stephen never has time for pleasantries; he's "received word" that the Fed is about to raise interest rates, and he wants Robert to buffer some clients by shifting into bonds and certain securities. Robert already has; he anticipated the Fed's actions by a week. Without another word, dad hangs up so Robert buzzes Jackie, tells her he needs more pencils and she tells him Miss Marsh has arrived. She brings in both pencils and a very jittery young woman and makes sure everything in order before she exits (her actions showing she has a crush on her boss). 

Penelope starts in, immediately, on needing an advance on her allowance (Robert manages a trust fund set up for her by her mother). Robert points out she receives her funds on a quarterly basis only, and draws out of her that she owes money for drugs; she had been clean but breaking up with her boyfriend sent her off the wagon. Robert agrees to float a loan if she returns to rehab. Penny (as Robert calls her) isn't sure that's the best idea, but Robert responds, "When have I steered you wrong?" and finally wins her over. 

Lunch with SMITH, a hot young movie star, goes well. They are at a restaurant surrounded by shrubs and traffic so Smith can be noticed without seeming to want to be noticed. Robert is telling the younger man that a particular investment his agent recommended "is just like Enron, more of a Ponzi scheme than a real company," when he hears Anne's voice call, "Eddie." He looks around to find her meeting EDWARD PERRIN (same age as her, good-looking), and she is radiant. They kiss and she says, "It seems like forever," as they walk away arm in arm. 

Robert cannot move, stunned, until Smith says, "Shit, no wonder you froze -- a babe like that." Robert just nods in response. Then Smith adds, "She kind of looks like that picture on your desk, the one of your wife." 

Robert spills his wine then as the waiter cleans up the mess forces himself to keep talking to Smith, convincing him to stay away from the bad investment and ending with his pet phrase, "When have I steered you wrong?" 

That night, Robert pulls into his driveway to find a new Mercedes parked by the front door. He stops behind it, envisions Anne leading Perrin inside and cannot make himself get out of his car until his housekeeper appears at the door and calls to him, "Mr. Van Warren, you have guests." 

Robert heads into the house to find JUDGE and MRS. AMBERSON (a too-too distinguished older couple) in the sitting room with Anne. A huge portrait of Robert's father hangs over the fireplace. The judge and his wife are old friends of the family...and of Robert, of course. Robert greets them then goes upstairs to change. 

Anne follows him and comments on how late he is. He responds it couldn't be helped and asks her about her day. She says nothing about meeting with Perrin. Robert tries to lead her into confessing, telling her, "I saw a young man on the street who looked familiar -- tall, dark-haired, good-looking, a scar on his left forearm. Do you remember ever meeting anyone like that?" Anne says no...but not in a definitive way. 

At the opening, Robert keeps to himself, drinking too much wine, speaking only to people who come up to speak to him and watching Anne talk to an attractive man in the distance. She seems to flirt with him. Robert becomes more and more upset in his usual quiet manner...until he snaps the stem of the wine glass. It cuts his left hand. He hides it by wrapping the cut in a napkin and slipping it into his pocket. Then he goes to Anne and insists they leave. No one says good-bye to them. 

At home, Robert and Anne argue. At first, she denies knowing Perrin but finally angrily admits they are lovers and casts questions on Robert's ability to please her. Her words turn vicious, dig deep into Robert. He hurries up the stairs to get away from her, but she paces him, belittling him until he lashes out at her. She tumbles down the stairs and lies there, motionless. Horrified, Robert races to her...and finds she is dead. He freezes.  

Up to Chapter 20

Made up a bit for yesterday, and am now up to Chapter 20, including the Battle of Bogside, where the local population fought back against the Royal Ulster Constabulary and refused to let them rampage into the Bogside area of the city. 14-16 August 1969. Brendan helps by making petrol bombs, and the fighting goes on for three days until Westminster sends in troops to separate the two sides. For the moment, it looks like victory to the Catholics...for the moment.

Seven or eight chapters left to go; just depends on how I do it.  I want each one to be between 12 and 20 pages, but a couple seem intent on going for longer. The one I'm facing now deals with one of Brendan's closest friends, Danny, dealing with some brutal demons and Brendan not knowing what to do...and it's at 40 pages, right now.

Throughout the story, there have been hints that Danny was being abused by his parish priest.  He's grown more and more moody, and when the priest was sent away, he grew lighter but still problematic. Brendan drew him into helping with repairs and electrical wiring, and there's talk of him being apprenticed for that work. But it finally catches up to him and all hell is going to explode here.

The consistency of Catholic priests molesting boys and girls in their parishes all over the world is far too well documented not to make reference to. Especially since there are studies linking that molestation to emotional and legal troubles for the kids later in life. This reality slipped itself into the story without my noticing, at first. And I still don't address it directly but allude to it....until this section, when it comes out in the open. Still unnamed but obvious.

I've got 4 full days left before I head out to a packing job along the Hudson Vally, between Albany and NYC. Maybe 5; depends on what Caladex needs from me to get ready for this job and the Toronto Book Fair, the following Sunday. But I'm so close to being done with this draft, I'm on pins and needles.

Something I have been doing throughout this draft is emphasizing Brendan's emotion reactions to things. How he feels. When he's angry and why. When he's happy and why. Giving him more and more a hint of a poet's heart. By the time I'm done with this book, he might actually be strong enough to tell me to fuck off.

Isn't that what every author wants his characters to do, finally?

Sick day...

I decided to do laundry at a full-scale laundromat and got a salad to-go from Pie-o-Mine, figuring I was being a good boy. Washing blankets and mattress cover, too. Getting ready for winter. If last week was any indication, it's going to be a fun one.
Well...the first laundromat I went to was packed, and the second one was open but not very good. Washing was okay but the driers sucked. And it was a lot more expensive than doing it in the building where I live or the first place I went to. Then on top of it, the fucking salad made me sick.
I'd planned to go grocery shopping but instead came home and tended to myself. Nap, too. Brain scattered. And somehow I wound up tracking in three little brown spiders. Caught them all and put them outside, where they won't starve. I'm just now feeling human, again.
The last time I got sick from a salad at that place, I blamed it on the uncured bacon the used for bacon bits. Uncooked, too. Not this time. Guess I'm steering clear of that joint. Not even balsamic vinegarette dressing protected me.
In short, nothing done on APoS, today. But I will have a fourth draft done, soon. 

More than halfway done...

This draft of APoS is halfway done. Made it through the attack at Burntollet Bridge and the police reprisals up to Brendan's family getting a new home on Clíodhna Place and his older sister, Mairead, getting married and having a baby.

I'm working up a query letter to agents in hopes of finding one that will help me set the book with a publishing house. Most of the ones I've looked up say 6-8 weeks before notification, which really puts it after the first of the year...so I've got time to still work it.

This is what I've got, so far. Any comments or suggestions?

---------- My novel, A Place of Safety, is the journey of Brendan Kinsella, a lad born and raised in Derry, Northern Ireland, who just wants to be left alone to live his life. But he is growing up during the time of The Troubles, and history keeps overwhelming his plans.The story is told in three volumes, beginning in 1966, with the murder of his father, when Brendan is ten years of age. 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 re-introduction of internment and Bloody Sunday, as well as witnessing a destructive bombing, to end in 1972. Woven through it is a budding relationship with a Protestant girl that has to be kept secret for fear of reprisals by both sides. This volume is in a fourth draft and currently undergoing revisions to clarify characters, events and moments.Volume 2 is set between 1973 and 1980, in Houston, Texas, where Brendan is sent after a mental breakdown, while volume 3 is set during the hunger strikes of 1981. Those two are in second draft. As of now, all three volumes total more than 1400 pages and 320,000 words. And I should add, this is not based on my own life.I have self-published 14 books in both print and ebook. Several are gay erotica, but I have also published a MF romantic-comedy, a MM murder mystery, a MM satire, and a MF erotic revenge thriller. However, I would like to situate A Place of Safety with a mainstream publisher to overcome the many obstacles that come with self-publishing...especially the need for sales and publicity (which I am very poor at), and getting copies of the book placed in brick & mortar stores.I am open to sending you the first three chapters of volume one, or the first chapter of each volume, or whatever configuration you prefer. I could also send you a copy of The Alice '65, my MF romantic comedy, or The Vanishing of Owen Taylor, my gay murder mystery, to further show my abilities in writing.Thank you for considering A Place of Safety. I believe it would be a great match with your agency's interests.I look forward to hearing from you.-------Seems a bit long, but this is a pretty massive book. I'd call it my Russian novel but right now I'm pissed at Russia. Maybe German, like Musil or Grass? French like Proust? Spanish, like Cervantes?

Checking in on things...

Okay...A Place of Safety is now 123,335 words spread over 541 pages, and I'm about 1/3 of the way through the rewrite. At this rate, I'll probably hit 130,000 words. This puts me at the end of 1968, when Eamonn, Brendan's older brother, is going to join the People's Democracy march from Belfast to derry...which turns brutal at Burntollet Bridge.
I'm at the point where I think the majority of the story is pretty well set. I need to make sure bout consistency and that all the names are correct. I changed a couple...like from Declan to Turlach, and a neighbor from Mrs. Rafferty to Mrs. Haggerty.
I'm also adding in more description of the areas Brendan passes through. Today it was Duke Street, by the railroad station. I found an old photo of Duke and used that to work it up. Same for his first time to Grianan Aileach, the circle fort just outside Derry in the Republic. It's a fight to give an idea of the places around him without sitting down and describing them in detail. Just give enough that a 12 year-old boy would notice to reference.
Derry has changed a lot since the beginning of the Troubles. Entire neighborhoods gone. Streets renamed or removed. Brendan's area is done away with, completely, to be replaced by a wide hillside of green grass. When I was there in 2002, you could still see open lots where buildings had been bombed or torn down, but you could also find sections where the old houses still stood.
I need to go back. Spend my time in the library looking through the newspapers of the time for the weather and movies being shown and prices and headlines and the like. I have a number of books from The Derry Journal that have photos of the time that appeared in the paper, but not one has a photo of the attack on the October 5th march in 1968. I'd like to see what the front page was like on the paper in the next issue.
The internet has its limitations.