JamTheCat

Off on another roundabout...

2026-10-20T22:00:38.461-04:00

Heading for LA, tomorrow, then to Seattle...and then maybe NYC. The last bit depends on what happens while I'm in the air. Such perfect timing, since I'm dealing with some lovely indigestion and acid reflux and shit.

Seems I need to step back a little from the spicee that make life worth living. So far the only foods I've eaten that aren't trying to tear a new hole in my stomach are cantaloupe and buttered toast. I did do okay with some cream of mushroom soup, but my quiche was not conducive to a gentle evening. Even tea with milk and honey is being snotty.

Anyway, today was taken up with laundry and packing and trying to plan out what to do if the NYC thing comes through, and none of it really makes me happy. I'd be staying at a hotel by LaGuardia, which is treated like an unwanted cousin by the city. No restaurants. No easy way to get around. It's absurd.

My brain is still twisting and turning in all directions regarding MQM, Same for my pamphlet on book packing. And getting myself to just hunker down and work through them is like asking to win a million bucks in the lottery. Ain't happening...probably because I don't play the lottery.

I'm taking Barbara Tuchman's A Distant Mirror with me to read on the flights. Go into forced solitude. Let everything go chaotic in the back of my head. Remind myself of how horrible mankind has always been to itself.

And will always be...

My so-called brain...

2026-10-19T22:59:03.284-04:00

Twisting. Turning. Fighting. Arguing. Cajoling. Laughing. And not one step closer to anything about MQM making any sense, to me. And this is with me trying to not deal with it.

I almost feel like a spectator at my own nervous breakdown. Bouncing back and forth between extremes while insisting I'm not involved. And the current fight isn't even over Simon's character; it's trying to figure out the motivations for Chris Walstead and Ivan Jensen to push through the legal case against him.

Included is me wondering if trying to keep the book completely in Simon's POV without using first person will even work. Meaning I wonder if I should go omniscient. I'm not really crazy about that. I think it entails a lot more expertise in using it than I have, as shown with Carli's Kills and The Alice '65.

I am more comfortable in first person. I become the character and can fill in the blanks...or ignore them as the situation determines. It worked really well with APoS and with The Vanishing of Owen Taylor...hell, with all but those two I mentioned.

I know I'm being repetitious in my whining and confusion over MQM, but everything I'm dealing with concerning it seems very immediate to me while I'm so incompletely connected to myself in so many ways I'm amazed I remember what I did yesterday, let alone what I wrote a week ago.

So I sit and speak and watch my thoughts drift away into nothingness and hope I can pull it together before I slip into senility.

Intrusive thought...

2026-10-18T21:28:17.796-04:00

What is my intention with The Murder of a Quiet Man?

What do I mean for Simon to be? Because Simon is coming from within me...and yet I don’t seem to know who he really is or why this story should matter.

What do I want people to think about him?
To feel about him?
How should he see himself? Feel about himself?
How do I find a way to make that fill the story without it being reticent in any way? With no wall between him and the reader?

That’s what this boils down to. I jumped into the story not knowing what it’s all about and just hoped it would reveal itself and come together like other books I’ve written have, but in doing so it’s become far more complex and confusing than I can figure out, at the moment.

The plotline is there, from beginning to end in a timeframe of six months. Maybe even shorter. I've thought of making it three months. I’m not sure yet. And that’s why I’m having such trouble...

Or is it? Could it just be me recognizing my attitude towards Simon and his life is too much on the flippant side? The writing method of I need this here and something to happen here...which is anything but organic to the story...and I don’t know why I’d think that.

It never was with Brendan, in A Place of Safety. That story had an historical setting that was important enough to get me past any confusion about it. Once I finally settled in and listened to it. Which only took 20 years to happen.

Well, I ain’t got 20 years to work on MQM. I need to have more than the spine to build the story onto. I need to know and understand Simon...and figure out how best to tell his story in a way that is beyond simple existence.

Is that what I’m after? An everyman caught in events out of his control? Something existential? Mixed with nihilism?

Nopne of which makes sense...not even to those of scrambled brain.

Well, this is weird...

2026-10-17T23:41:38.382-04:00

I'm trying to work up a booklet on how I do my packing jobs. Prepare for them, get what information is needed, and how to allow for contingencies...and it's hurting my head.

I've laid out the details I need to ask for to start working up a game plan, which has always seemed simple and straightforward. Where are the books located? Where are they going? How many are there? Is there a list? Are there photos of the books on the shelves? All very A-B-C.

But then I tried to factor in aspects that are just second nature to me, much of which depends on me being very adaptable. I can go into a house and work out a space to use, build a workstation without a thought, and start rocking along. But having to write all that into the instructions means I have to think about it and explain what's instinctive to me.

For example: I did a job recently where all of the books were on the second floor (which was really the first floor but up half a level) except there were three shelves of books on the second floor...which was more like floor 2.5. And had some heavy little monsters.

So...do I bring them down to pack with the lower level ones? Which would mean going up and down a staircase that's one of those twisty/turny things guaranteed to make me take a tumble, and I did not want to risk dropping one of the books.

Instead, I made a secondary workspace up there, packed them into boxes, and hired a couple of guys through UHaul moving help to bring them down to the main landing...because they were heavy and I'm a wuss.

Seems simple enough to explain...but that just ain't the case. So many variables to keep in mind and put in order to prevent confusion in the reader. And that's not even getting into how best to pack boxes into a reusable container or the back of a Chrysler Pacifica.

What's funny is, I've been doing this for so long, half of it I don't even think about before I determine my next move. I just run with it...and then tell the people in the office it's really easy.

Who'd have thought I could be a book-packin' maven.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer

2026-10-16T23:57:00.861-04:00

I'm going to read his biography; he seems appropriate, for now...

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German theologian, viewed stupidity as a more dangerous force than evil. He argued that stupidity, unlike evil, is impervious to reason, facts, and even force. It's not merely 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.

Here's a more detailed breakdown:

Stupidity as a Social Force: Bonhoeffer believed that stupidity wasn't an inherent trait but a condition that people can fall into, especially within powerful social structures or during times of rising power. He observed 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.

Impervious to Reason and Facts: Bonhoeffer noted that stupid people are resistant to logic, facts, and arguments, often dismissing contradictory information as inconsequential or irrelevant. They are more likely to rely on slogans and catchphrases rather than engaging in critical analysis.

Dangerous and Self-Satisfied: Bonhoeffer highlighted the dangerous potential of stupid people, particularly those in positions of power, as 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.

More Dangerous than Evil: Bonhoeffer believed that evil, while harmful, carries within it a sense of unease and can be confronted. Stupidity, on the other hand, lacks this internal critique and is thus more difficult to address. It can be manipulated by evil forces, making it a more potent threat.

Liberation, Not Persuasion: Bonhoeffer argued that stupidity cannot be overcome through reason or education alone. He suggested that liberation from stupidity requires courage, responsibility, and independent thinking. He believed that one must be willing to challenge the status quo, question authority, and resist the temptation to conform to popular opinion.

In essence, Bonhoeffer's theory highlights the dangers of intellectual passivity and the importance of critical thinking in resisting manipulation and harmful ideologies. He believed that societal change requires individuals to cultivate a willingness to question, to learn, and to take responsibility for their actions, even when it is difficult or unpopular.

The MAGAt Cult and the GOPedophiles fit into this so perfectly, as led by a man who is the epitome of stupidity.

Slow learner...

2026-10-15T22:24:18.497-04:00

Ludwig is back on BritBox, being doled out once a week for 6 episodes, and it's helping me settle my brain a little. It's a fun little murder mystery with quirky characters who actually connect to each other, and I enjoy it.

It's interesting to see how neatly this works. I tried a season of The Chelsea Detective and none of it gelled for me. Tedious. Unbelievable characters and acting. Storylines padded with nothing. And a lead actor that has all the charisma of roadkill.

Oh, and don't get me started on the idiocy of The Assassin. I couldn't even finish the first episode, that thing was so insulting.

Add a book I'm reading into the mix: Unleashed by Emily Kimelman. I'm not connecting with it and don't like the main character, at all. Things happen that don't make sense, including ridiculous coincidences. And I'm close to giving up on it, now that I'm a third of the way in.

BUT...the mediocrity of those projects in comparison to the sharpness of Ludwig has kicked me in the ass, regarding my opinion of my writing. They're like early drafts by novice writers in need of a good editor.

I know perfectly well I can pull together a story with characters you care about if I hunker down and keep at it. Hell, Curt from How to Rape a Straight Guy got readers' sympathy even as he destroyed innocent men's lives.

So I just need to stop berating myself for not being perfect from the first word. And stop not letting my characters do whatever it is they want...or telling them this action needs to be in the story to make it work, when in truth it doesn't. I know I say I let them lead, but I find I still place unconscious parameters for them to stay within and that is half of what's holding me back.

At least, at this point in time. I may change my mind, again, tomorrow.

Shift in projects...

2026-10-14T22:34:34.523-04:00

I'm going to write a small pamphlet detailing planning for packing and shipping antiquarian books. Well, books in general but with an emphasis on antiquarian.

It will detail how to work out what is needed in the way of packing materials and time to pack; how to prep the boxes and books for going into the box; and finishing the box for transport.

I've worked up illustrations to accompany the instructions so anyone can do this. I figure it's time to lay this out because I won't be able to do it for much longer, and I don't know anyone else who offers this service. This way, somebody can do it, step-by-step.

I guess I'm feeling my mortality, a bit, thanks to this skin cancer situation. I'm now scheduled to have a little of my nose removed on December 10th. I'm told it's an outpatient procedure and there will be bandages and cleaning instructions. Such fun...but it's the same doctor who cut the first one out of my right cheek, so I guess it'll be fine.

I'm still blank about MQM, and considering how viciously Felon47 is crushing America, let along how his whole administration betrayed Ukraine to curry favor with Russia, I seriously doubt anything I write would ever be greater than what the MAGAt Cult and GOPedophiles are pulling.

If I'd done this 10 or 15 years ago, it might have seemed prescient. Now I'm just caught in the wake of the hell they're causing. Because I don't have the ability to break free enough to outpace it.

If I ever did...

No...no, that's not right. In The Vanishing of Owen Taylor I pretty much wrote a warning about it. Showed how religion, the police, the DA and business interests conspired to grab control of Palm Springs through fraud and murder...and I wrote that 10 years ago. Long before Felon47 was president and while the MAGAts were just a looney fringe group.

So, Kyle, maybe stop focusing on the present and see if you can figure out what's going to happen next.

Again it comes...

2026-10-13T23:17:05.621-04:00

I always had a good idea I'd be facing skin cancer. I'm about as white of skin as you can be without being an albino, long topped with red hair (now a near white blond) and freckles. Had plenty of sunburns on my face, arms, and back, not to mention legs. And a couple of times it was second-degree blisters.

It would happen even with SPF50 and 70. I've graduated to SPF100 and still get a bit of browning on my forearms and neck. That's one of the reasons I like to stay in my apartment...no chance of burning, there.

Every dermatologist I've had examine me pretty much nodded at that understanding, once I told them. And I've already had one precancerous basal cell spot removed from my right chin. Got a nice little scar there.

Now it's my nose. When I saw the dermatologist, recently, she took a biopsy of at its tip for testing, and the call came in, this morning. I will need to meet with a surgeon to have it fully removed. How much, they couldn't say, yet.

They did inform me it was precancerous, but it's still not what I needed at the moment. I doubt I'll lose enough of the skin on my nose to matter or even really notice, once it's healed, which would be good. I've never had the largest sniffer. And I seriously doubt this is severe enough to bring on chemo, so I'm just being wimpy.

And whiny.

That's been my mood the last few days. Which leads me into thinking of stories to write that are anything but suitable for work, again. Like Taking Nicky or my two Dirc stories.

For a short while, my mind even drifted back to completing part 4 of Blood Angel...but Léon and Gabrielle made it a bit too much for me. It was headed along the lines of...he wants her to take Franz, she agrees to, Léon winds up watching her sexual seduction of the man in a vague sort of threesome that threatened to turn into a foursome with Dmitriy involved, and I scurried back into my shadows.

A gay Blood Angel vampire watching his Blood Angel sister have her way with a gorgeous man, helped along by another gay Blood Angel...? I'm too vanilla for that.

The Man in the Red Speedo...

2026-10-12T22:28:03.144-04:00

Spent the day sorting crap and then found an early draft of this so did a polish,,,

-----

Used to be, if 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 that isn’t far wrong.

I happened onto a Saturday afternoon showing of On The Town on TV, while living with my grandmother – around the time he meets up with Miss Turnstiles and they do their little duet – and got locked onto his derriere in that white sailor suit.

But reality is, that was merely the first time I began to understand what I wanted in life. The first time I caught an idea that I wasn’t like the other guys was when I went on a camping trip with my Boy Scout troop.

We had recently moved back to San Antonio from London so were staying in the same area of town where my mother had grown up. We even joined the church where she had belongs to. Which wasn’t bad. Presbyterians tend to be religion-light.

I had been a scout in England and was at the Second Class level, two or three badges short of being First Class. Which was pretty good for a twelve year-old who had lived in three different cities in the previous six years...and who spoke like a Brit.

Only I didn’t like it. 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 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...except for charcoaling a hot dog.

Then one weekend we drove up near New Braunfels and went on a hike to stay overnight along the Guadalupe River. Canyon Dam had recently been completed and a lake would soon cover an area of gullies and ravines that was saturated with towering Cedar Trees, bubbling springs of ice cold water, and limestone cliffs...and my first thought at seeing it was, “What a shame to do that.”

It was a June weekend and hot, the time of year where the air surrounds you in a blanket of stillness. A rain the night before added to the humidity, and by the time we reached our chosen campsite 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 can’t swim, therefore couldn’t join them. Instead, I was off by myself, transfixed by a series of rapids and tiny waterfalls gurgling along at breakneck speed. My joy came from sitting on the stone as the water whooshed over me and twigs and leaves raced by like little boats.

Now, we also had an assistant scoutmaster named Mr. Prescott. who was an Airman with a wife and soon to be a father. He was around 6 feet tall with dark hair, tight and trim, and tanned skin. I'd thought he was so adult...even though I know can see he was barely twenty-one. But he was really nice to me. Very patient.

Like when he showed me...for the tenth time...how to do a simple square knot. Something I still have problems with and have to make a conscious effort to do properly.

Of course, part of the issue might have been how focused I was on his elegant hands instead of actually learning. I was already something of an artist and I wanted to sketch them, sometime. So I thought my interest was just me 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 in perfect proportion. 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 tight bright red, square cut Speedo.

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. 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 I was teased by the other boys, who called me a girl with a crush...though never when he was in earshot. I didn’t really understand what the problem was, so just shrugged it all off. Then when we got back to the church, the scout master took me to one side and told me I should leave the troop, saying, “We know how uncomfortable you must feel, here, because we feel uncomfortable, too.”

I just nodded. I was never going to gain First Class status in Scouting because I couldn’t get the swimming badge, and you had to have that 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.

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 grew depressed, when I heard. I thought it was just because I knew I'd never see him, again. But in truth, it was because his life had been completely separate from mine and always would be, and I hated the reality of that.

It was about a year later that I finally saw Gene Kelly and really began to understand why.

For years afterwards I would conjure him up, sometimes, standing on that rock like the knightly gentleman he was. And at those times...sometimes, when I dreamt of that day...all I would do is hold him...as he held me…and nothing more. And for those few moments, I would feel whole.

Which helped me make it through the hell that was to come.

I'm wondering...

2026-10-11T23:17:09.834-04:00

Could it be that I was foolish to believe I could write a simple story about an elderly man who refuses to back down in the face of unjust charges, thus leading to his death, and make it have any meaning? I really wonder.

A Place of Safety is my strongest attempt at a straightforward novel, and that is strung along the core of an historical event. That is what kept it on track, really. Any time I tried to run off in one direction or Brendan went in another that didn't work, it all came back to making certain we were honest about the times and his world.

Bobby Carapisi is along the same lines. It's got non-con mm sex in it, which makes my inner core happy, but it treats the situations of Eric, Bobby, and Allan as honestly as possible. And all I'm saying in it is that even someone who's committed evil is capable of being understood. Sort of.

The Vanishing of Owen Taylor is a murder mystery so that allows a lot of detail to be added so the revelation is not too obvious. The Lyons' Den is based on an Earl Derr Biggers novel, which gave me room to play. And The Alice '65 is just a fun little rom-com of a story without any deep meaning.

I mean, all of my stories have something to say about how broken America's system of justice is, so me making another novel with nothing but that as its reason to be is repetitious. And MQM just wasn't playing along.

And what good would it do as a character study? I can't see that in it unless it's illuminating other aspects of what's going on.

So today I did no writing whatsoever. Sorted boxes of old paperwork. Stayed offline till dinnertime. And let the world just wash on by, for a while.

Helps my mental and emotional health, at least.

Break time...

2026-10-10T23:22:18.986-04:00

That's it. I have to back away. I didn't go online, today, till almost 5pm to finish reading The Daughter of Time by Josephine Tey...and the book was kind enough to remind me of all the hellacious things people have been doing to each other since forever.

Shakespeare and many historians claim Richard III had Edward V and Richard, Duke of York, 12 and 9 years of age, respectively, killed in the Tower of London to secure his place on the throne of England. But only gossip and politically instigated accusations say so. No evidence. Not even the bodies.

The book's conclusion is that Henry VII, who succeeded Richard after he was killed in the battle of Bosworth Field, had the boys smothered long after Richard was dead because they might threaten him as king of England. He was the first Tudor king, and they would have been the last of the Plantagenets. Instead, Richard was the end of that line...and the Tudors reigned for 118 years.

But what it lays out is how so many innocent people were imprisoned and killed in the political machinations, or had their home and incomes stripped away from them. And I think of what happened in Rome during the Caesars. And the Crusades. And how the Europeans and Americans were when dealing with indigenous people around the world. And how the rich treat the rest of us. And it's overwhelming.

Maybe I'm weak...or weak-minded. Too sensitive. Or afraid. Or just plain lost in futility. But I can no longer see a reason to write The Murder of a Quiet Man. The world is rushing headlong into ever greater chaos and we cannot avoid knowing about it.

So I just want to hide, for a while...like a cat licking its wounds, waiting to heal before it comes out of the shadows.

Not Working...

2026-10-09T23:41:24.427-04:00

It's not working. Nothing is. No matter what I do or how I try, I cannot connect with MQM, and I don't know why.

I've tried reshaping it. I've added new characters and thought of dropping others...and nothing about it grabs me. It does not excite or even interest me. It just sits there. Bland and tedious. Writing by rote.

I thought maybe watching another mystery on Acorn would help gear me up. The Chelsea Detective. But it's even worse. I don't like the characters...or the actors. The writing is very A-B-C. The pacing is more like padding. I swear, the episodes may be just under 90 minutes long but they could be trimmed down to an hour and ten, the editing is so loose and sloppy.

So it just adds to my depression. Which is what I think I'm going through, right now. Not something debilitating but functioning. And the cause of it? Jesus, make a list.

Politics in America. War and chaos around the world. Hate the main emotion spreading through the web. And confrontational assholes who spit on anything decent and kind. You can't escape it...not unless you shut your social connections down, completely.

But those are how I keep up with people. Everyone I know and love is either in Texas or SoCal, and to have that motherfucker in the White House joke about nuking LA and San Diego...and having his crowd laugh about it and then defend it...it adds to all of this. It's heartbreaking.

I've had a lot of anger rear up, something I can usually control. But it's taken over my ability to write. MQM is not right for that kind of emotion...and what I do want to use that for is...well, is inappropriate.

I thought about adding a horrific incident I went through when I was twelve to give Simon reason to be angry, but he doesn't like it. Thinks it's just an excuse. And I can't blame him.

So WTF do I do?

Day of jobbing...

2026-10-08T22:02:53.651-04:00

Needed to get info for a few jobs in the UK. One would involve packing. One would be just a pickup from a residence. One might be a hand-carry from NYC to London. And that took all my energy and focus.

Well almost all. Dealing with Walgreens took the last of it. I don't know what's going on with that pharmacy chain, but over the last six months I've had problems getting prescriptions refilled in a timely fashion. On three occasions I set up a refill...and their system deleted it. Or put it aside. Or something.

I've had to go in every time to get it rectified because when I call I'm put on hold and there are more than three callers ahead of me. Even when new prescriptions come in to them, they'll forget about one. As happened today.

I'm supposed to get 2 dermatological creams for my skin, and they acknowledged they had received the prescriptions, but then one disappeared. I went in to get my flu/covid vaccine so asked about it and it didn't show until they searched up the prescription...from two days ago.

Normally, I'd think it's just me screwing up online, somehow, but not this consistently. I don't want to shift to CVS so may start getting my meds by mail...except the postmaster is out to destroy the mail service so that's not reliable, either.

I also dropped my car off for servicing across the street from Walgreens and will pick it up, tomorrow, and we'll have to see if that prescription got filled. And another one I needed.

Maybe there's nothing that can be done, because it's looking more and more like the whole of society is falling apart. I usually joke about it being the end of the world...but lately, I'm not so sure I am.

Still at it...

2026-10-07T21:59:31.879-04:00

I'm still pulling together the outline of the story...but now a couple of characters have changed their positions in the action. What's wild is, in doing so they may have changed who actually kills Simon.

Initially, I had the cop who arrested him at the beginning do it. And he still would be in on it...maybe. It's just...that moment felt wrong. Not badly so, just...not right. Too symmetrical.

Adding the drifting snow helped but still didn't feel complete. The plan was to string Simon up as if he'd killed himself by hanging, in the woods. He puts an end to that by refusing to get out of the car and then, when he's forced to, winds up with a dislocated wrist.

No way a man with only one working hand can arrange to hang himself off a tree branch. So in the middle of everyone arguing over what to do, one of the men pulls out a pistol and shoots him. Or maybe it's a woman who does it. Hmm.......

What's especially interesting about this is it would work well if I start the story out with Simon's body being discovered in a shallow grave. The whole story would be leading up to that moment, with indications one person committed the murder when, in fact, another does.

That could really make for an interesting story...

Pulling it together...

2026-10-06T21:40:05.175-04:00

I've got a good start on the XLS outline for MQM. This is a very basic setup for the story but having it start in mid-May and end in mid-October is a lot of help clarifying not only the length of time it takes for the story to happen, but also what the weather will be like.

I'll need to shift ReShawn's son's games from being baseball to soccer or football, at the end, but otherwise it all fits in. Even having an early light snowfall comforting Simon in his last moments will work.

It's also bringing some clarity to my mess of a brain. I've used specific dates when setting out the timeline, but I'm going to avoid that and just name the days of the week as it goes along. Even when Falwell schedules the trial, that will just be like, three weeks from today, eleven a-m. Will that work?

It feels rather cold to be plotting out the last months of a man's life like this. But it seems to be freeing Simon's inner being up. He's revealing more turmoil over past events, remembering things he regrets and things he doesn't even though he should.

Adding Joel in adds an anchor to Simon's world. He's kinder, thanks to this. And his anger at Doyle for mistreating him seems to read stronger and more valid. I guess. Won't know till I get to it.

Eventually.

Sidetracking...

2026-10-05T22:06:02.381-04:00

I started my graph for the timeline of MQM then hopped over to my dermatology appointment. And got kicked off center.

A couple precancerous growths are on my face and arms, one requiring a biopsy. Results come next week.

I've already dealt with a cancer being removed on my right jawline, which was no big deal, but now it's making itself better known. Got a cream that's supposed to handle most of them.

But it messes with your equilibrium, something I don't have a lot of to begin with. So en route home I stopped at Dickeys and had a meal of turkey, potato salad and cole slaw and sat there, after eating, for an extra half hour. I didn't want to come home.

After that, I went to a grocery store to get a few things and meandered about, not wanting to go home.

I've noticed that more and more in me, lately. I must be getting tired of keeping myself in. I can go days without seeing anyone or talking to anyone and be fine, but every now and then I get really sick of it and just want to stay away.

So I got nothing more done on the graph. No thoughts about Simon and his situation, at all. Just feeling old and tired and unsure about everything.

So tonight I'm re-watching Ludwig, on BritBox. It's a goofy, very British murder mystery set in Cambridge, using the logic of puzzles to solve murders. Season 2 is about to fire up and I want to renew Season 1 in my head.

And see if I can just relax.

I have to do a reset...

2026-10-04T23:03:57.727-04:00

The timing of MQM is off and the characters are giving me only hints about themselves, right now. What time of year do I want this to happen? Should I start the story with Simon's body being found as the first chapter and have the rest of it lead up to his death? How many memories do I want to punch in? How many more characters? I'm already up over 2 dozen.

Right now, it's like scrambled eggs in my head, which is a food I don't like by itself. Eggs can be so damned bland, even with salt and pepper, though adding salsa or tabasco helps.

So I add onion, Velveeta sliced cheese, green pepper, olives, and bacon bits. Starting with three eggs well-whipped. Make hash browns. Toast. Tea. And that I like for any meal, which also leaves enough for a sandwich, later.

But that's the way it is for me. I want the ingredients set for whatever dish I'm making. Then I can do anything with it. My trying to go all the way through the book to get a first draft done is probably what's screwing me up. I bounce around, I don't glide.

Which means I'm going to work up an XLS of the actions and characters, tomorrow. Do it by month, like I did for APoS and started for Dair's Window. Get that settled, at least. But it'll take a couple days.

I have an appointment with the dermatologist at 2 so can get started, at least.

A new character...

2026-10-03T23:59:19.000-04:00

This is the beginning of chapter two. Simon is en route and stops at a Flying J to take a break.

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It was a relatively busy place with semis off to themselves under towering canopies, fueling up, while cars, minivans and UHaul cube trucks were in front of the building. He worked out that he was in Pennsylvania and noticed he was at half a tank of gas so decided to top off, as well. Once that was done, he moved his CRV to by the store’s entrance.

The inside was big, rambling and clean enough, with the usual mishmash of food, drinks, goods, tools, accoutrements for trucks, and knickknacks for cars as faux country music echoed off the Muzak. He was at the freezer case picking through the rather lumpy ice cream sandwiches it offered when...

A young man entered the store.

A gorgeous young man.

Tall. Cocky. Swagger just right for a fitted t-shirt slopped over a wide belt and buckle around trim hips and well-worn jeans. Boots that were anything but new. He was casual and cool, with perfect proportions. Taut muscles bulging but not overly so. Good flow from his back to a nicely rounded ass. And that I’m too fucking hot for you attitude that always brought out the prowling alleycat in Simon and...

Simon froze, shaken.

He looked somewhat like Joel. Sweet, tender Joel Malone, who had never really believed he was someone worthy of desire. Born to an oil executive in Lubbock. Tall, sandy hair, elegant proportions, a face Michelangelo would have loved. No ego to him. The only guy Simon had ever been with who saw him as a partner, in bed, and not one step up from a fuck-toy.

They had been at the same community college but then Joel transferred to UT Austin and they’d drifted apart. Soon after, Simon was taken over by Doyle and that was the end of it.

Until Joel was diagnosed with AIDs. Simon only found out through old friends in San Antonio. A Hollywood movie had been shot in the Austin area and members of the crew had...well...from what Simon understood the disease had exploded through the city after they were done. And Joel was an early casualty. Before anyone really knew what it was all about.

Joel...gone before he was twenty-two...

And here was another beautiful man who was so much like him.

Without thinking, Simon opened his camera app and snuck a dozen photos as the young man wandered down the coolers. Then stopped to peruse the soft drinks. Then squatted down in a manner close to balletic to grab an energy drink. Then sauntered back to the cashier with the sensuality of a cougar strolling through its domain. All without so much as a glance in anyone’s direction.

As Simon silently recorded him.

Automatically positioned himself and his phone to get good clear shots without making himself too obvious. Heard him say, “Filling on number 9. Decker Transport.”

The frumpy cashier hit some numbers on their register and it dinged...

Then the guy looked towards him. Maybe even at him. And let a smile hit his face before he sauntered out of the store.

Simon froze. He didn’t know how long he was unable to think of what he should do next. He just gazed out the entrance as the lad strolled around to an area out of his line of sight...

And he kept standing there. Finally, he took in a deep breath, paid for his ice cream sandwich, and exited...

Just in time to see the guy off under a nearby canopy, climbing into the cab of a long-bed semi. He brought it to life and pulled out of the parking lot back to the highway.

And Simon nearly wept.

Moving in the right direction...

2026-10-02T22:23:46.274-04:00

More of Chapter one rewritten, and I've cut a good 800 words, so far.

--------

He’d had to deal with the woman on a few occasions, while at Veriman’s. The first time being when she had loudly complained that the books he’d shipped to her were not packed well-enough.

He had wrapped them in tissue, then brown paper, put them in bubble bags and set in a box with biodegradable peanuts. What had sent her into conniptions was how that box had not been packed into another box and, since the value was exceptionally high, then packed in another.

Like a Russian Doll.

Then there was the last time she had set foot in the shop...all ninety-eight pounds of her, in very high-priced couture with silver hair that was short and stiff enough to cut you. She had whined the air conditioning was too cold, the lighting was too dark, the Perrier she was given was lemon instead of lime, and so on and so on. She was hardly someone Simon wanted to deal with.

Olivier must have sensed it, because he quickly added, “There are only around a hundred titles.”

“Mrs. Northridge is selling her books to you?” Simon asked.

Which felt very wrong. Veriman’s was still going strong so by all rights that should have been the first place she'd contact about selling. She had bought enough from there.

Olivier sighed and said, “She’s passed away.”

Oh. Well...Simon was surprised. He'd thought her impervious to the laws of existence. “I hadn’t heard.”

“I knew them both well-enough to be informed of her passing, so jumped on the collection. I’d also like a condition report on the books, with photos...”

“Olivier, that can be very time-consuming...”

“Nothing serious. Just be certain she took care of them. They haven’t been trashed. Some of the books have fine illustrations in them, so verify they still do.”

Just a minute! “She broke books to remove illustrations?!”

“Dunno. But I’d not put it past her.”

“Then it’s good she’s gone.” Which burst from Simon before he could even think to stop it. He considered it a cardinal sin to destroy a book just for the pretty pictures.

Olivier actually harumphed. “Simon...I’d no idea you were so judgmental.”

Only on things of importance, Simon thought to himself.

Then there would be dealing with a grieving widower while taking away a collection his now late wife had slaved over for years. That could be very emotionally involving, so he said, “I...I don’t know, Olivier...I don’t think that I’ll be right for this.”

“Nonsense, and you’ve done it many times before...”

“But...well, why not send Amir, from your New York shop? He could rent a car and drive up and...”

“He’s hasn’t your attention to detail, yet.” Olivier heard the sigh in Simon’s voice so continued with, “It will be fine, I promise. Shouldn’t take more than a day or two. Wait, you do have a laptop?”

What? “You know I do.”

He had used it on the two previous jobs for him, but so like him to not remember that.

“Right, right. And Excel?”

Oh, for god's sake. “Yes...but...”

“Simon, please. I’d come, myself, but I’m four-thousand miles off and Chelsea Book Fair is next weekend while Tanner wants it done, this week, or he’ll just have the books heaved in a box and carted off.”

Which definitely would not do.

I said I wouldn't...

2026-10-01T23:33:19.812-04:00

...But I am. Going back to the beginning of The Murder of a Quiet Man to streamline what I've written. Hoping to find out why I'm doing this.

Here's the new opening...

---------

The beginning of the end of Simon Halloran’s life started with a phone call from Olivier Daskin, an antiquarian book dealer he knew from London. He wanted Simon to catalogue and pack a collection of rare books and fine bindings at a residence in Barrington, Ohio, something he was very practiced in doing.

But the moment he heard what Olivier wanted, a little voice in his head calmly said, Hold on; this is not a good idea.

To begin with, Simon was gay and Ohio was hardly conducive to that. Next, Simon was extremely liberal in politics and everything while Ohio was mainly his polar opposite. Finally, he had reached that stage in life where he felt no need to tolerate the intolerance of others, which would put him at odds with much of the state. So he had consistently avoided going anywhere near there and the moment he heard Olivier’s request his first thought was to say no.

However, Simon had known the man for some time, had helped him in the same way, a few times before, and knew a great deal about rare and antiquarian books...so it made sense that Olivier would contact him about this.

The one drawback?

Simon was seventy-five and looked it, both in face and neck, though seemed much younger. Of average height, as thin as Ichabod Crane, with hair more white than blond and features that were calm and plain, exacerbated by an ever-present pair of readers on his nose, he had a vaguely dusty, knowledgeable, almost ethereal air whispering around him that would immediately peg him as either a librarian or book dealer. Which fit, considering he had worked at Veriman’s Antiquarian Books for nearly thirty years.

His clothing was always a button down-shirt, slacks...never jeans, never shorts...and loafers. With plenty of pockets for pens, pencils and small notepads. Sometimes a sweater. Sometimes a jacket. Sometimes an overcoat...when the weather demanded it.

He lived alone in a one-bedroom apartment on the ninth floor of a high-rise a couple blocks from Veriman’s rambling old storefront on the town’s gentrified Main Street. Now retired, he survived well-enough on Social Security and occasionally being asked to handle a small cataloguing and packing job.

Like this one .

“It's a nice collection,” Olivier said, “and not so very far from you. Can you help me with it?”

He hadn't even said a word of Hello or How are you doing? So like him. He was one of those self-involved lads who were born and raised on an estate halfway to Cambridge. Short, stocky, family money, he had the face of a wicked elf and was always impeccably dressed in bespoke clothing. He also spoke in a West End accent another British dealer had referred to as about as faux as possible, and had minimal concept of how difficult life could be for those not as fortunate as he.

Simon had met Olivier when he came to Veriman’s and purchased an East of the Sun, West of the Moon illustrated by Kay Nielson as well as a Grimm’s Fairy Tales with artwork by Arthur Rackham. He would make the rounds of the Mid-Atlantic book dealers whenever he was stateside, and had recently opened a second shop in New York City. Now he was still trying to stock it, fully.

“But it's in Barrington,” Simon said, that little voice making its displeasure known.

“Yes. You know it?”

“Um, Olivier, that’s over three-hundred miles. Not, not so very far.”

“Closer than I am. It’s just, I won’t be in the States for another three weeks and this has to be done now, now, now. I’ll email you an itemized list to work off. XLS. Pop it down to the NY shop. You know the drill. Easy-peasy.”

“Is it of high value?”

“Only about six-fifty...”

That made Simon blink. “Six-hundred and fifty thousand dollars!?”

“Pounds. They’re from Tannen Northridge’s wife.” Spoken as if he were shocked Simon didn’t already know.

Simon already suspected that was to whom Olivier was referring.

Still searching...

2026-10-01T00:15:57.321-04:00

And fighting with myself over whether or not to go back to the beginning and do another pass through what's already written to make incidental changes. Something I promised myself I would not do.

But it's proving to be difficult. I'm at the point where Simon receives the article written from Zack's interview with him for a semi-weekly gay newspaper. So that needs to be written. And there's the ad posted online...set to also be in the print edition of the next issue, which won't be coming out till after the trial.

Those bits aren't really led up to in what's done, so far. Is that going to cause issues? Or should Chris and Elissa even know about it, yet? Same for Ivan...

I'm still leery about continuing in the direction I've got plotted out. My complaint is how shallow it seems. Which completely ignores how this is a first draft. Officially. Where I'm working out the story...

Even though I'm not, really. It is worked out. It's just up to me to hunker down and complete it.

Have I lost interest in it? Am I just avoiding facing that possibility? It did sort of worm its way into my consciousness, despite my preferences. Am I finally done with it? Has finishing it become too much of an obligation?

I do feel like I'm undergoing some major changes in my life, and not only physically and emotionally. There's something mental included. A drifting towards a simplicity that I've longed for yet never really sought.

Travel no longer interests me. I don't even like to leave my apartment. It was a big deal for me to do that tango with WalMart, seeking my planner, and I only went out yesterday because I needed milk...so got a haircut, too, to get that out of the way.

Today, I stayed in and tried to ignore the world. Didn't do all that great a job of it, still it seems Leave me alone is my new goal.

I guess Candide is having an effect on me.

Slow going...

2026-09-29T22:43:59.491-04:00

I'm circling back around MQM, thinking about it and considering shifts in it and changes I wasn't expecting to become part of this process. Now wondering if I'm restricting its structure too much. It's a book, not some holy writ about human existence. But that doesn't stop me from trying to make it so.

On top of that, I do not know why this story should matter to me or anyone. I don't understand the meaning behind it. I thought I did and felt it was timely...showing how a simple interaction between a cop and civilian could build into murder...but that has suddenly hit me as trite and piffling.

I'm sure a lot of this second guessing stems from what happened this weekend, and that feeds off my uncertainty about what the story is trying to say...but the reason Simon provided for it strikes me as absurd.

He thinks Chris and Ivan push forward with the case because he placed an ad in a gay semi-weekly asking to be contacted by anyone who'd been arrested or harassed by Officer Ivan Jensen. And he used his painting of Ivan under the street lamps to illustrate it.

It's like it's embarrassed them or the see it as an attack on their heterosexuality, and the trial is their way to counter him. I don't know why they would think that would do a damn bit of good. Especially since no one responds to it...until after Simon's been killed.

Which seems too simplistic...yet exactly what I want.

Even though I don't know what I want. And if I did, I'd question it.

Aftermath...

2026-09-28T22:41:32.996-04:00

Not the best of days, for me. After the chaos in my brain over nearly losing my planner I fell into second guessing every choice I'd ever made in my life and coming down hard on the side of being a total fuckup.

I had a dozen things I should have been doing -- ironing, cleaning the bathroom, sorting paperwork, and others -- but could not get the motivation to do any of it. The best I managed was sweeping the floor. I don't have carpets so that's relatively easy. Oh, and I stored away my A/C units.

But the rest of the day was doom-scrolling on my laptop. Which made my mood even worse. I posted a few memes on Xitter and Instagram...the latter of which apparently also posts to my Facebook page. Which I hadn't noticed, before. Instagram and Xitter are my political pages, but I guess there's no separating any of that from my friends-oriented FB page.

I also was feeling my age, today. Stopping dead in the middle of a room and unable to decide what to do next. This wasn't just forgetting why I'd gone in there. It was a brain freeze and inability to make a decision, for a few minutes.

Alzheimer's runs in my families, though it's mainly my grandmother's mother's generation that dealt with it on the matriarchal side. Called it hardening of the arteries. A great uncle slipped into it, as well.

On my father's side, an uncle wound up with dementia, but some of that may have stemmed from being wounded during the war in Korea. He still had shrapnel in him.

I dunno. I'm already paranoid enough about my ability to keep going. I wanted to stop working a couple years ago, but I need the money since the GOPedophiles have cut Medicare benefits. I've already seen what's coming and if I don't want to become destitute, I keep doing the packing jobs.

More reason to question my life's choices.

Don't give up...

2026-09-27T20:22:24.647-04:00

I got my weekly minder back. I returned to WalMart, this morning, and searched everywhere I'd been in that store, but nothing. So I was at Customer Service leaving them my name and phone number when a guy walked up with it. Seems I'd actually left it in the electronics area and he'd found it. Now his shopping was done, he was turning it in.

Which brought up the Why didn't you go looking like this, yesterday? You'd have found it and not been so screwed up for the last 24 hours. Which is true. It had sat on a shelf by the mouse pads since Friday.

But sometimes I get locked into a thought and cannot get out of it till much later, as happened this time. I was so certain I'd had it when I checked out...until I finally remembered going to electronics and thought I should check there...at nearly 11pm, last night.

I know what matters is I have it back, but I'm still shaken...and I will never take it into any store ever again, by itself. I can't trust myself not to have this happen, again.

I may work this into Simon's story. I have him the same age as me with many of the same experiences, so it might help deepen his character even more. Maybe have him diagnosed as on the spectrum or having ADHD, neither of which were really looked for by doctors back in the middle of the last century.

When I was at Trinity University, there was a kid attending who was like a savant with the sciences and mathematics. But he took a photography class with me and he could not figure out how to focus the camera. All of his shots were fuzzy or off. Didn't matter how many times he was shown.

It was just the one semester; I think he had to take it as an elective. And at the time we just thought he was odd. Different. Not quite right in the head.

That was in '76 or '77. They didn't really come up with research showing Autism as a spectrum of issues until the early 80s, and it wasn't solidified until 10-12 years ago.

I sometimes wonder if I ought to get myself tested, because a lot of my existence is handled by coping mechanisms...

Fucked up...

2026-09-26T22:40:09.349-04:00

I went to WalMart to get some temple guards for my glasses and left my daily minder at the self-check out register. Realized it this morning so went back to get it...and Customer Service said they didn't have it. No one had turned it in. It wasn't at the self-checkout either.

I know I left it there because I took it into the store and had it under my arm, got what I needed and took it to the register...and then I grabbed a late lunch at Dickey's but didn't take it in with me, and came straight home.

I'm in a wild state over this. It has all my contact info, addresses, medications, and appointments and travel plans. A lot of that I can reconstruct, but it's freaking me out, and I'm pissed as hell at WalMart for not putting it in lost and found.

My feeling is they just chucked it. That's how the employees there come across to me. I can't imagine someone just taking it, because it's almost used up...but what do I do? Names and addresses of friends and family are in the back of it. Do I notify all of them in case of identity theft?

Fortunately, I never put any financial info in it, and I have a freeze on my credit information so that's safe, but now I'm feeling beyond stupid for even taking it with me. Which is escalating into a crash and burn into depression...that I cannot stop.

At least I found a cheap 15-month daily minder at Target and have begun rebuilding it. But swear to God, the older I get the more likely it is I shouldn't be allowed to go anywhere with anything.

So no writing done. Nothing. I'm too focused on beating myself up.