Words by Ross

Little things becoming special

2012-01-12T02:35:00.001-08:00

I use this blog to usually blog about more serious things. But sometimes you just have one of those days you just want to share.

I arrived back home yesterday and the plane was some 15 minutes early due to the howling tail wind. That was nice.

Today I received an unexpected and quite nice message from a celebrity I respect, checking up to see how my recovering from surgery is going. That was really nice to receive.

I had a pile of mail waiting for me and I went through that today and discovered a postcard from someone else I quite respect who is currentlyin Europe. It was a fascinating postcard with a historical explanation of what the image was about. I really liked receiving that.

Since quitting the smokes back before Christmas, I had been waiting for the return of my sense of smell that I am told happens. And it arrived sort of as I was walking by a coffee shop this afternoon, suddenly smelling the goodies far better than I am used to. And that is with a slight cold or late hayfever interfering with things.

These are small things in themselves but just seemed special to me in odd little ways.

Maybe it's a case of small things and small minds. :-)

BOOK REVIEW: The Spider Goddess by Tara Moss

2011-12-27T20:06:00.000-08:00

First posted at awritergoesonajourney and Boomerang Books.

The Spider Goddess by Tara Moss
a Pandora English novel
Pan Macmillan
ISBN:978-1-7426-1003-0

There’s a new designer in town- and she has Pandora in her sights. Who knew the fashion industry could be so venomous.

It’s now been two months since Pandora first moved to the mysterious Spektor to live with her equally mysterious Great-Aunt Celia. And it’s certainly been anything but boring. She’s encountered counting-obsessed vamps, ghosts, zombies and a myriad of characters she never thought possible.

Now there’s a new threat to New York, and Pandora seems to be a beacon for the strange and unexplained.

I had mixed feelings about the first in the Pandora English series but my final feeling was that I was looking forward to seeing the next in the series. Unfortunately the old brain box was working rather sluggishly for a while there after the brain surgery and only now am I getting to writing up my review of this second Pandora English novel. Sorry about that.

I suspect one of the reasons, probably the major reason, why I had those mixed feelings about The Blood Countess was that I was not expecting this from Tara Moss, being used to and a fan of her crime novels.

With The Spider Goddess, I was much happier. I felt some of the problems I had with its predecessor had been addressed (not that I am arrogant enough to suggest I am the reason why they were addressed!) and along the way, these added to the greater development of the larger plotline. For example, cartoonist Charles Addams gets a mention in such a way that I half-expect him to play some sort of role in a future novel.

There is definitely a creepy feel to the story but not to the point that I would be uncomfortable with younger readers getting their hands on the story. I have given a copy to a young friend, fully expecting this young adult to also enjoy it.

I felt Pandora was a stronger character this time, adding to the story. I also liked Moss’s exploration and use of various mythologies. But it is a paranormal story, after all. I even found myself feeling a little sorry for Pandora and her feelings for the deceased Lieutenant Luke – bit hard to see a relationship developing with a ghost who only seems to be able to appear in certain places.

I enjoyed this novel and read it quite quickly.

Action, humour and humanity: Born Fearless by Big Phil Campion

2011-12-26T19:46:00.000-08:00

first published at Boomerang Books

Review - Born Fearless by Big Phil Campion

Anyone who follows international affairs to even a basic degree would be aware of the existence of private military operations in places like Afghanistan. But we don't hear a lot about how these operators actually work. Born Fearless is a fascinating account of life on that private circuit by one of those right on the circuit's razor edge.

Phil Campion had a brutal upbringing. I think it is fair to think Campion could have easily gone down a much darker path but as a youngster he ended up in the army. Clearly one to get easily bored by the regular, the mundane, Campion found his place in the elite forces, culminating in the SAS. This proved a good background to enter the private military circuit.

This account provides a good account of life on that circuit as well as what lead up to it. That bit I enjoyed. What I didn't enjoy as much was Campion's regular reminding the reader of his 'years in the military.' Phil - I know you were in the army and respect you for it. But I didn't need reminding of it so frequently.

At times I also found myself wondering about Campion's sanity. He was operating in a hair-raising, dangerous environment. And he loved it but without becoming an utter psycho, for which I respect him even more.

This is a fascinating account of an aspect of life that very few of us will ever see (or probably want to!), with action, humour and humanity. It should have quite wide appeal.

OK, here's what's ACTUALLY happening (or not) with the surgery

2011-11-16T23:57:00.000-08:00

It has been a while since I had a rant and I think this is a good one.

Back in May, an alert and conscientious radiographer (or whatever they're called - the ones that do the X-rays) pointed out to a doctor in the Emergency Department at Calvary Hospital here in Canberra, that there was a suspicious shadow on one side of a just-completed brain scan of my noggin. A second scan confirmed the presence of an aneurism. Calvary not being equipped for that sort of neurosurgery, I was referred to the Canberra Hospital.

Jump forward a few months. By then I had seen the neurosurgeon twice, been referred to Royal Prince Alfred in Sydney in expectation that the aneurism could be treated by far-less invasive procedure called 'coiling' only to have RPA advise that my particular little beastie was too broad and therefore unsuited to the procedure. So I was down for the full brain surgery. Come September I was finally booked in for surgery on 20 October and to attend a pre-surgery clinic in late September.

One of the joys of my life (not) is to have a thing called Crohn's Disease. For the last five years I have been treated by an immune-suppression drug each eight weeks by IV at the Canberra Hospital. This particular drug regime has been fantastic in keeping my Crohn's under control, especially compared to the previous few years which contributed to my finally being kicked out of the public service onto invalidity. That's actually over five years, people, so we could be excused for thinking that this would probably appear somewhere reasonably prominiently in my hospital records.

I saw the surgeon twice and there is no way at all that I would have failed to tell him what medications I am on, including that eight-weekly administering of the immune-suppresant. I also saw his registrar at the clinic in September and I not only told him about that drug, I even told when my next scheduled appointment was for. No concerns whatsoever.

Come my next drug infusion on 15 October, five days before the surgery, I informed the doctor examining me prior to authorising the treatment, that I was scheduled to go under the knife on the 20th. His precise response was "that's not a problem."

On 17 October, I called the Gastroenterology unit to enquire about the possibility of having my next infusion done in Victoria as I was intending travelling down there to recuperate with family after my brain surgery. They went into full panic mode. "You can't have surgery so soon after that drug infusion!" An urgent consultation with my gastroenterologist was to occur and a return phone call promised that day. By late afternoon, not having heard anything, I made contact with the gastro myself. He confirmed that the surgery had been cancelled and advised that due to the presence of the immune-suppressant in my system, any post-surgical infection could well have killed me and that I should have never been given it. At this point I was told the surgeon had no record of my being on that particular drug. Huh? Don't any of them listen to what their patients say in answer to their questions? Or read their own hospital records?

The next day, the hospital's Surgical Bookings called to ensure I was aware that my admission for the next day (surgery the day after) had been cancelled and made a new booking for admission on November 16 and surgery on November 17. This was a direct hospital response to the surgeon cancelling the October surgery.

On November 14, someone called me at home, identifying themself as one of the surgeon's team and wanting to confirm what medications I was on. They confirmed that surgery was this week.

November 15, I received a call from the Gasterenterology Unit, advising that in accordance with my gastro's instructions, my next drug infusion had been delayed to December 21, four weeks after the scheduled surgery.

Come November 16 ie yesterday, I duly turned up at the hospital - five minutes early even. The Admissions area was expecting me, worked through all the paperwork and sent me up to the relevant ward. But the ward staff said they had no knowledge of me coming at all. But not to worry, they had a bed spare.

The surgeon's registrar came and saw me two times, the second being to discuss the procedure in detail. Now I am told that rather than going through a smaller hole through my forehead as previously described in detail by the surgeon, the procedure is now to pretty much remove the left-hand side of my skull, exposing the entire top of the brain. Yikes. "Are you sure about that?" I asked, indicating what the surgeon had described. "No, it is definitely being done this way," was the answer. I was then advised that I was first on the operating list for the following morning ie today. Pretty reasonable assumption that it was all going ahead, one would have thought.

The registrar then made a surprise third visit. He had just spoken to the surgeon who had stated he was not expecting me until next week and he refused to operate until next week. Bare in mind that I had already been admitted and was by then laying on the bed munching the solitary sandwhich which was all they could scrounge up for my lunch. And this was afterall the surgical appointment made by the hospital, presumably in line with the surgeon's instructions.

With this being the second cancellation, I was not best pleased. To put it mildly. To be perfectly honest, I was now so pissed off that I quite honestly wanted to punch someone in the face. And I am not a violent person. Noisy, yes, but not physically violent.

Cutting the story a little shorter (believe it or not), by later that afternoon I was talking to the registrar once more, now by telephone. Now the story changed. It was confirmed that I had been scheduled for surgery today but after my admission yesterday, the surgeon simply changed his mind. After my admission.

I am a full-time university research candidate. In second semster I had paid tutoring work lined up but once it became apparent that I was to have surgery during the semester and go MIA for some time, that opportunity was lost. While I needed that money, I thought it was a fair trade off so that I would have the surgery behind me and be back on feet enough to be able to attend family functions later in the year.

Once the October date for surgery was confirmed, I immediately applied for a formal Interupption to Study with the university. What I was not made aware of until later was this meant that I was deemed not to have been there all semester, thus losing credit for any and all milestones achieved during the semester. So the best part of a semester's work has been largely wasted.

With these delays that are all 100% the cause of the Canberra Hospital, I lost my paying job for no good reason as I could now have done that tutoring job. With surgery scheduled for today, I had to now stay in Canberra until after December 21 when I could get my next drug infusion as it was 'impossible' to transfer the treatment to Victoria. I sure as shit cannot afford to head down south as planned and also have a return air flight to get the drug infusion. Only now the surgery has been postponed again to next week, pushing that infusion date back to December 28. So now not only do I lose that care and support from family post-surgery, not to mention missing the eighteenth birthday of my niece and god-daughter, I am not even allowed to have Christmas with my aging mother and the rest of the family. Unless of course I delay the drug infusion even later, but by past experience, by that time I would be just about reduced to crawling onto the return plane - that's how sick I can get, quite quickly.

Let us not forget that despite the involvement of the surgeon, his registrar and another doctor employed by the Canberra Hospital, it was only the intervention of a non-medical person that saw me avoid being operated on in such a potentially deadly situation.

Now when discussing things with the registrar by telephone yesterday, he told me that they cannot be held responsible for changing circumstances. Excuse me? What changing circumstances? Has the surgeon or the registrar seen me since the surgical appointment was made? No. Has there been any form of medical examination post-15 October? No. Has there been so much as a blood test to indicate that there was too great a presence of the drug still. No.

What an absolute load of bullshit.

I suffer from depression and related mental health issues. This building myself up for surgery and making many arrangements and other accomodations, only to have it twice ripped out from under me by hospital screw-ups, is having a pretty detrimental impact on that mental health. Trust me on that one!

I hit the roof with a very senior hospital adminstrator late yesterday. She first tried to tell me that I would have only been bumped from the surgery list in order to accomodate a more urgent, life-threatening case. Now if that were the position, I would most certainly have not been complaining. I'm probably not going to drop dead tomorrow from this beastie in my head and if someone else's life was going to be saved by pushing me back, then fine. Except that wasn't it at all! I already had it from the surgeon's registrar that he had simply changed his mind. And the registrar admitted that he couldn't guarantee that the surgeon wouldn't change his mind again next week as well.

This senior person assured me I would have a return telephone call from her by about 1pm today with a full explanation as to what the hell is going on. It is 6:38pm as I type and nope, no call. Nor an email. Nothing.

It should also be noted that I previously instructed the hospital that after another issue regarding this particular surgeon, I did not want anything to do with him in future, thanks very much. Guess who they kept putting on the case. Clearly my wishes amount to jack shit.

Now if this lot cannot read their own hospital records to know what drugs I am taking, are incapable of taking note of what I have told them in three seperate appointments about what drugs I am taking and yet another doctor authorise the continuing use of that drug despite being told of surgery occuring in five days time with only the intervention of a non-medical person saving me from potentially being killed by their negligence, not to mention this fart-arsing about with surgical appointments and changing of minds after my admission, is it any wonder that I am having major doubts about their ability to actually remove the side of my skull and go digging around in the old grey matter without totally fucking me up?

Oh - and has the hospital ever apologised for any of this? Well the gastroenterologist did in that phone call back in Octobedr, but it wasn't his fault or that of his staff. In fact it was an alert member of his staff who possibly saved my life. But the hospital in general? Nada. The surgeon? Don't be silly - he won't even speak to me but just send other people to fuck me around so why should I expect him to say sorry? Never mind that his negligence just probably would have killed me.

I am taking legal advice to hopefully sue their collective arses off. And seeing my GP asap to try and arrange someone else.

Congratulations, ACT Health, for yet another stirling effort! It really takes skill to so consistently and utterly FUCK IT ALL UP.

URGENT UPDATE - with apologies to Kellie Lang of Canberra Hospital. She has rung me at 7:04pm, working quite late, to give me an update. No, things are far from sorted out yet, but she is taking this very seriously. Unfortunately I am too pissed off still to be bothered with editing hence this postscript.

Big win for Aussie small press!

2011-11-11T19:56:00.000-08:00

first posted at awritergoesonajourney.com

There are still some schools of thought out there that think writing is really pretty easy. You just write a novel (easy-peasy) and major publishers are all sitting around, nervously biting their nicotine-stained fingernails as they wait for your manuscript to appear on their desk, at which time they will hand over a check with a suitably large number of zeros on it somewhere. Preceded by some number bigger than zero. Piece of cake. At that point, you can comfortably resign your ‘real’ job for the luxurious life of an author.

Sad to say, I did actually have a supervisor, when I still had a ‘real’ job, who honestly thought pretty much along those lines. She was quite certain that it was just a matter of course that I would finish a novel and be able to promptly resign my job (to her relief) on the large advance I would be given.

The reality of course is that it ain’t anywhere near that easy. Apart from the fact that writing a novel is damned hard work, getting published is a damned sight harder.

The often overlooked part is that of learning to be a publishable writer. Very few of us are able to just sit down and write that novel that publishers are all busting to sign up. We have to learn our craft, just as any apprentice does. For many of us, that learning experience and apprenticeship comes from the short story or novella. We have to learn how to craft a story, learn how to tell it in a compelling way that will draw the reader in. And we need to get experience in getting published, in pitching our work to publishers/editors, in editing and working with said publishers.

This is where small press comes into its own. The world of speculative fiction has a long history and tradition of small press producing anthologies of short stories in particular, which for many aspiring authors is the first entry into that magical world of actually seeing your story in print. Australia has its own strong tradition of small press.

In recent years the number of small press offering opportunities to Australian authors seems to have dipped a bit. For example, Cat Sparks decided to call it a day with her highly regarded Agog! Press in order to concentrate on her own work. Eneit Presswere sadly forced to call it a day for reasons we shan’t go into here as I have blogged furiously about this previously.

So it was great news to see Alisa Krasnosten win the World Fantasy Special Award – Non-professional at the World Fantasy Convention for her continuing work at Twelth Planet Press. This doesn't just proves the good work Alisa and co are doing there at Twelth Planet, but reminds us that the independent, small press are a vital and integral part of the Australian publishing scene.

Congratulations Alisa and keep fighting the good fight!

Ross the Repellent
(Overlord-in-training)

Procrastination as inspiration

2011-11-04T20:25:00.000-07:00

Sometimes when writing, the words just do not want to come. I refuse to concede it as being writer's block but rather that it is just my aging brain being lazy.

On those occasions, and this is one of them, I find it can help to just switch track and start writing something else - anything. So I decided to write this blog post. Sure, it is a form of procrastination yet it can help get those sluggish brain cells to start firing thus is a form of inspiration - sort of.

It is an absolutely glorious day, brilliant sunshine, the warmest day of spring so far here in Canberra. I have the workshop room of the ACT Writers Centre to myself. Outside, the Gorman House Markets are in full swing. Now when I say full swing, I should note that it is one of those days that just make people drowsy and a number of the stall holders are displaying just that.

Deciding to halt for lunch a short while ago, I headed over to where the main food stalls are. Being such a warm day, I decided to forgo my usual papusa - a cornmeal pancake stuffed with cheese and beans, smothered in a delicious hot chilli sauce - and went for an Italian crepe stuffed with spinach and fetta, with a squirt of lemon juice across the top. These are also very tasty although it amuses me a little that I now willingly eat something with spinach in it whereas as a kid, getting me to eat it was no small feat. But at that corner of Gorman House is the Embroiderer's Guild who had a craft sale on in their rooms. So I just had to poke my nose in there. Before I knew it, I was having a conversation about cross stitch (something I do to occupy my hands of an evening and keep me from going insane - the cross stitch that is, not the conversations). And now I think I have gone and committed myself to joining them of a Monday evening to sit and stitch with them.

Coffee from my preferred vendor was lovely as always and he even slipped a bit extra coffee in for nothing to help fire me up.

The other attraction is a secondhand bookstall. I should be banned from them as I have more books coming in than I can cope with anyway. Fortunately for the sake of my bookshelves, I flipped through his collection of secondhand CDs instead and came away with a full version of Mozart's The Magic Flute for only eight bucks. I have only ever had excerpts of that before. This lovely opera is now issuing from the very tinny speakers of my laptop.

Now this procrastinationesque activity seems to have worked of a sort. Words are starting to flow a little more easily now. Time to close this blog down and return to the other, real writing.

Welcome to the dark side

2011-10-15T21:21:00.000-07:00

There is an attraction to being a performer. Why else do so many young people secretly dream of being rock stars? I know I did.

I tried being a musician and I was brilliant apart from the slight drawback of being virtually talentless. I did a little amateur theatre years ago. I think the most memorable bit of that was wandering around one evening in the foyer before removing the stage make up, only to be told that make up really suited me.

Last Friday evening I experienced that amazing thrill, the rush of being in front of a crowd in a packed venue, performing and getting laughs that were intended. The energy in the room was amazing and just lifted you up, bringing out even more manic energy in me. Perhaps not surprisingly, Robin Williams is one of my comic heroes. While I most surely am not anywhere near as funny as he is, I can relate to his manic bounding around. And how tiring it is. I felt exhausted by a set only some seven minutes long. It was all that adrenalin and manic energy pumping through the system.

Now I understand why people do it, getting out there to make people laugh. Fortunately I never got into drugs so cannot compare it to a drug high. But I know I never felt that good when I was still drinking.

Comic DeAnne Smith said to me afterwards via Twitter, 'welcome to the dark side'. I understand what she means. I want more!

Joys, laughs and tears (almost)

2011-10-12T06:36:00.000-07:00

Today has overall been one of joys.

Firstly, I received a lovely offer from the Chair of the ACT Writers Centre, El Presidente Sylvia. No, not that sort of offer - minds out of the gutter you lot. It was yet another offer of transport to and from the hospital next week. And to water the plants. And look after the pets. And do the ironing. Well, the transport is organised, housemate looking after my straggling African Violets and no pets. But there is the Ironing Mountain waiting.... Nah, I'll do it next week. Maybe.

Then there was the most wonderful statement from another friend. I shall not mention her name to save embaressing her. But Lisa Fuller - whoops, wasn't going to say that, was I - offered to come and stay during the surgery itself when the brain surgeon is amusing himself turning my head into a colander. "That's what we do in my family," she said, "and your family now mister."

I was almost tearing up over that. Truly. What a truly lovely thing to say. Unless that means I am now expected to be taking out the rubbish at her place, washing her better half Ben's car or something like that.

This evening was my first outing to an open mic comedy night. It was at The Pot Belly, a bar in Belconnen. Now I haven't been there since I sobered up about ten years ago. I suddenly had a fit of the giggles, comparing the coffee in my hand to the terribly, terribly drunken state that I think I was probably like the last time I was there. The mere fact that I cannot entirely remember that last visit, probably says volumes.

So my first real outing doing comedy. Quietly forgetting a very forgettable attempt many years ago when I did not have the faintest idea what I was doing.

Having a bit of a memory problem these days, I made a memnomic on the back of my hand so I would know all the gags I was supposed to be doing. Except I couldn't remember what half the bloody things were supposed to be. But I got some laughs. And I had some fun. A special thank you to the two lovely young ladies, Rachel (?) and Maddie, who laughed at everything. I felt better about the memnomic afterwards when one of the other performers showed me the small essay he had written on the back of his hand.

A big part of the reason why the night went so well was the MC, Marie Helou. Marie is a working comic who divides her time somewhat between Canberra and Sydney although she is based in Sydney these days. Now Marie has been working very hard for three months now, trying to teach loonies like me, how to do comedy. Every Thursday, into the car to drive down from Sydney to teach us at the Belconnen Community Arts Centre. Marie has put a LOT of time and effort into this and we really, really appreciate it. Marie is funny and an all-round sweetheart. I'll leave it to her to make the short jokes and boob gags. I was going to post a piccie of Marie with the link to her page at the Comedy ACT website, but ever since this blogger thingy upgraded its shit, I cannot seem to load pictures properly at least half the time these days. Including this time.

Thanks Marie. XOX

Also thanks to Tim who has been doing all the hard work for the Mindscapes Festival as part of the ACT Mental Health Week activities. Tim has been a great support in making this all happen for us.

Onward to our big gig at the Civic Hotel this Friday evening.

I suppose I ought to think about going to bed. Sometime. Eventually.

Maudlin notes, thank yous and unexpected results...

2011-10-10T22:58:00.000-07:00

I have been in something of a maudlin mood of late, concerning the forthcoming surgery. What if it doesn't go right? The surgeon could sneeze just at the wrong moment when he has a length of my grey matter pulled out of my head. And so on. In reality the procedure has a much higher chance of things like stroke than other trips under the knife. So I have been taking care of a few things like getting in touch with a few people juuuust in case the worse did happen - I would hate not to be able to communicate with them properly again afterwards.

Well, one author I admire wrote me a lovely note back. To preserve her anonymity, I shall just say thank you anonymous-statuesque-former-model. :-)

At the same time, I have been hiding said fears behind my usual exterior of nonsense. Well, that's just what I do, OK. However this has had some unexpected results.

As I have regularly referred to this as getting a labotomy, one of the university staff thought I was actually being lobotomised and was wondering how I was going to be able to continue my studies. Whoops.

A dear friend in the US, knowing my usual habit of talking drivel, thought all of these comments about getting holes drilled in the head were just more of the same. She received quite a shock to actually receive a serious email from me about it and realise that, no, I'm not actually joking. And I made her cry. Whoops again. Sorry Bailey - didn't mean it - promise!

BOOK REVIEW: Salvation's Reach - Dan Abnett

2011-10-02T02:17:00.000-07:00

review first posted at A Writer Goes On A Journey

Salvation's Reach
Dan Abnett
Gaunt's Ghost 13
2011
Black Library
ISBN (UK) 97881844168200
ISBN (US) 9781844168217

Blurb

The Tanith First-And-Only embark upon a desperate mission that could decide the fate of the Sabbat Worlds Crusade in the thirteenth book this popular Imperial Guard series. The Ghosts of the Tanith First-And-Only have been away from the front line for too long, listless and hungry for action. But the proposed raid on the mysterious Salvation's Reach is so hazardous, it's regarded as a suicide mission. Haunted by spectres from the past and stalked by the Archenemy, Colonel-Commissar Gaunt and his Ghosts embark on upon what could be their finest hour... or the final mission.

Review

Dan Abnett is widely regarded as one of the best military sci fi writers in the world today. And I agree.

The release of another novel in the Gaunt's Ghosts series is a reason to settle down with a cuppa in a comfy chair and get lost in the universe of the 41st Millennium.

In terms of the military action, Salvation's Reach is every bit as crisply written as its predecessors. Plenty is happening by the reader is drawn along without any difficulty.

Ibram Gaunt continues to be the hard-bitten warrior and leader, fighting in the continuing Sabbat Worlds Crusade. Fans of Gaunt will no doubt enjoy this next instalment.

I was however puzzled by some things. By the time I had reached the end, Gaunt and his men had fought their way across a couple of battles with the survivors mourning the loss of their fallen comrades. And I was left with a disquieting sense of 'so what?' A number of elements were introduced into the story that by story's end, had not seemed to drive the plot forward in any real way. While these will no doubt play a role in future instalments, I felt the story arc would have been stronger for bringing these out more in this particular instalment.

For a nobody like me to be seen to be criticising someone with the credentials and success of Dan Abnett, probably seems the height of arrogance. I certainly didn't dislike the novel and generally enjoyed reading it. But at the same time I have a guilty sense of being a school teacher writing 'can do better' on a report card.

Sorry.

BOOK REVIEW: You'll be sorry when I'm dead - Marieke Hardy

2011-10-02T02:08:00.000-07:00

review first posted at Boomerang Books

You'll be sorry when I'm dead
Marieke Hardy
2011
Allen & Unwin
ISBN 9781742377261

Marieke Hardy became a much more visible presence on the Australian landscape with her regular spot on ABC Television's First Tuesday Book Club. But of course she had been around for much longer than that, writing for The Age and elsewhere, including the Australian Writers Guild's magazine, script writing and acting when younger. She is clearly a fascinating individual and I looked forward to finally getting to review this book.

This is less a biography and more a collection of shorter pieces about aspects of her life, some of which previously appeared in print in shorter form.

I had expected to be entertained and I was certainly not disappointed. Hardy's prose is every bit as sharp and bright as her verbal barbs on television. I was quite literally laughing out loud in places which is unusual for me even when amused while reading. I had started writing down some memorable quotes for use in this review but there was simply so many of them. But referring to Alan Jones as 'that little cockstain' was just priceless.

This read was not all giggles and smirks. There is a darkness to Marieke Hardy as well and she was not afraid to explore this in places.

There was a passing reference to Hardy's great-Aunt Mary. I am old enough to remember the often outrageous and always funny, Mary Hardy when she was a fixture on Victorian television. Her tragic demise was surprisingly typical of many 'funny' people – surrounded by people yet alone and very sad. At the risk of sounding like a pompous, amateur headshrinker, I felt a sense of the same coming through at times in Marieke's writing.

This is an adult read in many respects and some of it is somewhat confronting. And I loved it.

“You'll be sorry when I'm dead” will definitely be going into my list of recommended reading from 2011.

Hoss Ramilton
(not my real name – read the foreword to get the joke)

BOOK REVIEW: Ghost Platoon

2011-10-01T10:23:00.000-07:00

first reviewed at Boomerang Books

Ghost Platoon
Frank Walker
2011
Hachette Australia
ISBN 9780733626432

Blurb

In 1969 a ragtag unit of 39 men were thrown together at Nui dat, Vietnam. It didn't even have an officer or sergeant in charge. A rugged ex-Royal Marine, acting corporal, stepped forward to take the lead. The platoon found itself involved in a high-risk ambush and under Riddle's leadership, came through unscathed, leaving a trail of enemy bodies behind. Yet afterwards, the platoon was disbanded and the army then spent decades denying the unit had even ever existed.

More than forty years later, Frank Walker details what happened at that ambush and why the army buried their existence, and the secrets that went with it. His findings are a shocking indictment of the long-term effects of war.

Review

If you are looking for a book full of heroic, Gallipoli-esque mythology of the Anzac digger, then this is not the book for you. This is an ugly, nasty story. Sadly, it is also a true story.

Walker has used his years of journalistic experience to dig deep into this story of why Defence officials for decades denied the existence of this single platoon. And it is not a pretty picture.

Some of the material received during the investigation simply beggars belief. For example, there is no sign of an official Headquarters diary covering the activities of this unit and this time frame. Among the excuses subsequently offered up for this inexplicable absence, was the suggestion that perhaps the HA staff concerned were not aware that they needed to keep a diary. What complete, utter nonsense. And I am being exceedingly polite with that description.

Another serious alarm bell goes off when it is revealed that the service records of some of the soldiers concerned, suddenly show them being transferred to another battalion – when no such actual transfer ever took place. It was a simple fabrication.

The continuing denials etc arose out of Defence concerns way back in 1969 that these soldiers may have been involved in what may be seen as an atrocity, born out of circumstance. That would never have done at a time when the Vietnam War was becoming increasingly unpopular in Australia.

In tracing the stories of a number of the soldiers involved in this platoon and the battle, the truly awful effects of war on the frontline infantry soldiers in Vietnam are seen only too badly. Alcoholism, depression, violence, inability to cope – these poor bastards wore the lot. Not much of a reward for what was still essentially voluntary service, even among the conscripts who still had to volunteer for overseas service.

This is not a history as such but it is still a factual story backed up by witnesses and other evidence.

It was not an enjoyable read. Parts of it are simply too raw to be enjoyable. But it is essential reading for anyone wanting to understand what these soldiers went through in Vietnam and the aftermath for many. And it is also an eye-opening indictment of how politics of the day can echo on decades later.

Bureaucratic cover-ups and sly tricks are certainly nothing new. In order to save a few bucks on future war pensions, bureaucrats had my grandparents sign documentation stating my uncle was being discharged fully fit in 1944. All my grandparents wanted was their son back home again and signed anything to make it happen. In reality he was a complete mental case from PTSD and never worked again. No pension. No support. Just a few medals and a flag on his coffin when he died in 1965 at age 42.

I have no doubt this sort of thing happened in respect of World War 1 and Korea, just as it clearly happened in respect of Vietnam.

Marieke Hardy, Fire Engines and Coffee

2011-09-28T02:17:00.000-07:00

This is my second attempt today at posting this entry. My computer really dislikes me at present.

Today I had an appointment with the headshrinker. A new one to be precise. I suspect my last one was unable to continue coping with mental delinquents like me and ran screaming from the building.

A strangely conscientious Ross arrived early. Well, to be honest, I was five minutes late for the time I thought the appointment was for but was actually twenty-five minutes early for the actual appointment time of 1pm. Except the appointment was no longer for 1pm at all but had been rescheduled and could I please come back at 3pm. Although there was no 'could' or please. "You vill report back here at 3pm and you vill be on time for Doktor Mengeler."

Fortunately today's post had delivered a long-awaited copy of Marieke Hardy's biography, You'll Be Sorry When I'm Dead. Another reviewer got hold of our review copy before me and enjoyed it so much that they had difficulty in letting it out of their hands. But I have it now so all is forgiven. Now it was hardly worth my time to now traipse across town to uni only to be there for five minutes only for it to be time to start traipsing back again. So I settled down in the cafe on the building's ground floor for lunch and reading.

As I was soon chortling out loud, I elicited some strange looks from other people, particularly when I managed to snort Coke Zero out my nostrils (not regular Coke as I'm on a health kick or at least that's my story and I'm sticking to it). This is a lady who writes like how I would like to but Marieke does it so, so very much better than me.

Just then, all hell broke loose. Alarms began shrieking, hammering and pounding like an entire punk concert on speed. Something was up! Had terrorists struck? Or worse, had someone else pinched my idea of letter-bombing the Mental Health knobs?

Strangely, I seemed to be the only one paying any real attention to this alarm. The cafe staff just spoke a little louder as they continued dispensing coffee and sandwiches. The couple at the table next to me merely introduced plenty of 'Pardon?' and 'What?' to their discussion.

Well obviously it must be a drill, I decided. But the noise was becoming too much for me so, like Elvis, I left the building. Now that's something I would like to do for a laugh one day; pay someone to make an announcement over the PA in a busy public place that 'Ross has left the building - repeat - Ross has left the building.' I could then amuse myself watching people wonder who the hell Ross is and why should they give a toss if he's in or not.

As I utilised the egress (I suspect that is grammatically incorrect but I think it looks good, so there) I heard then saw a fire engine approaching, all sirens, lights and bravado, which then pulled up beside the building. Yet there was still a conspicous absence of anybody else leaving the building even though it was clearly more than just a drill. Odd, that.

I retired instead to Smith's Alternative Bookshop. Interestingly I am yet to determine exactly what the alternative is to books that they are selling. Particularly as there are in fact books for sale inside. But Smith's does a good coffee and as anybody who knows me is aware, that is a good way of getting my attention. Somehow the flamenco version of I Did It My Way in Spanish playing inside, lacked quite the same degree of excitement of fire alarms and engines.

I now had a soothing coffee and a comfortable place to continue reading Marieke. Now to see if she could make me snort coffee out my nostrils.

P.S. I didn't snort coffee as I was now forwarned but still kept chortling aloud.

P.P.S. Having just reached the chapter describing Marieke's heartbreak at the demise of the Fitzroy Football Club, I am now irretrievably in love. Go the 'Roy Boys!

P.P.P.S. The health clinic neither burned to the ground nor was letter-bombed.

BOOK REVIEW: In the Best Interest of the Game

2011-09-22T21:39:00.000-07:00

review first published at www.boomerangbooks.com.au

In the Best Interests of the Game

Darrell Hair
HarperSports
2011
978 0 7322 9288

Cricket umpires are a strange breed. And it’s hard work. Just umpiring informally for an hour or so at a time when official umpires are not available can be hard enough, concentrating every single ball just for that period of time. Yet umpires at the first class level have to be ‘on’ for six or more hours in a day’s play. Blowed if I know how they do it.

A good umpire is barely noticeable if they are doing their job well, but should be more-than noticeable when needed to be. As an observer, I have always seen Darrell Hair in that light. He was courageous enough to first raise concerns about the bowling action of Muttiah Muralitharan back in the 1990s, later calling him for illegal bowling deliveries. In the wake of later testing of Murali’s action, the law-makers changed the rules to permit up to 15 degrees of movement in the elbow during delivery, a single degree more than the amount of movement adjudged to occur in Murali’s delivery of his ‘doosra’. Not that I have ever seen an umpire issued with any measuring equipment to ensure every delivery does not exceed that degree of movement. The concerns of Hair (and others) were obviously justified but simply later by-passed in what I thought was a pretty pathetic piece of fence-sitting by the authorities.

Hair covered the Muttiah Muralitharan episode in a previous hard-hitting book although it again receives a little coverage towards the end of this latest title. This title however covers the other major incident in Hair’s career- the refusal of the Pakistan team to return to the field in 2006 leaving Hair and his fellow umpire in the match, Billy Doctrove, little option under the rules than to award the match to Pakistan’s opponents, England. This refusal to return to the field was in protest at the umpires jointly agreeing that the ball being used by the Pakistani team had been tampered with and under the rules, awarded a five-run penalty to England.

The subsequent treatment of Hair by his employer, the International Cricket Council, in the wake of the ball-tampering affair, was absolutely appalling. The ICC breached so many fundamentals of the employer-employee relationship, it simply isn’t funny. A subsequent tribunal appeal by Hair saw the ICC quite rightly being absolutely ridiculed for their behaviour and ridiculously contradictory evidence. I think it quite fortunate over their monumental cock-ups.

This book is every bit as courageous and uncompromising as Hair himself in his pursuit of what he believes to be right and ‘in the best interests of the game.’

a thought...

2011-09-19T20:32:00.000-07:00

While I refuel on some coffee, I decided to do a little reflecting.

The Internet is a wonderful thing. No, I am not referring to the fact that I must be seriously challenged in the genital area, judging by the number of emails I receive offering to increase the size of my offering in that department. For that matter I must also obviously suffer badly with erectile dysfunction and am in need in several gross of watches.

I am talking about the way it can help us connect with people.

I have just had a conversation with someone via Twitter. She is in Canada (British Columbia) and I'm down at the other end of the world in Oz. We all just take that sort of thing for granted now, but she and I are thousands of miles apart, never met in person yet here we are, chatting like old mates. I remember as a kid, Dad giving me an old radio that had a shortwave band on it. I used to delight in hearing these strange languages coming through the ether to emerge from the crackling old speaker. Yet now I am just so blaise about being able to pretty much instantly talk to anyone, anywhere.

For the record, my friend is artfullyangie, a pretty kewl artist (http://www.artfullyangie.com/) not to mention being pretty darn cute as well.

And that is probably my deep thought for the day.

BOOK REVIEW: Germline

2011-09-19T19:34:00.000-07:00

review first published at http://www.awritergoesonajourney.com/

Book Name: Germline

Author/Editor Name: T. C. McCarthy

Book Series: The Subterrene War

Number in Series: 1

Publication Year: 2011

Publisher: Orbit

ISBN: 978-0-356-50041-6

Blurb

War is Oscar Wendell’s ticket to greatness. A reporter for the ‘Stars and Stripes’, he has a pass to the front lines of a brutal conflict over natural resources, where genetics – the germline soldiers – battle heavily armed troops deep beneath the icy, mineral-rich mountains of Kazakhstan.

But the front is nothing like Oscar imagined. The genetic soldiers are more human than he’d bargained for too. Hooked on a dangerous cocktail of drugs and adrenaline, lives are beginning to blur. And if Oscar doesn’t find a way out of the chaos soon, he may never get back.

Review

I dislike trying to sum up a novel in a single word but on this occasion it is not hard to do so: brutal.

Initially I was expecting something along the lines of space opera or military sci fi but I was a long way from right.

This is a future where the USA is the aggressor in a war for mineral resources. In a short time, losses on both sides are horrific, despite the introduction of the genetically engineered super-soldiers. On the US-side, these are all identical teenage females, which if they survive to age 18, are killed due to increasing mental stability. Yet these female genetics were more successful and stable than attempts with males.

After Oscar has a brief relationship with one of the genetics, he finds himself being interviewed by two men from the Department of Defence who explain they are trying to increase the mental stability of the germline soldiers.

“To make it so they don’t get attached to men like you. If we can do that, we have a product that’s useful over a greater period of time and, consequently, worth more to the Defence Department. It’s all about lowering production and maintenance costs and making a larger profit. Commerce.”

That is about the coldest attitude towards human life and war as you are going to get.

Oscar goes through Hell – both on earth and his own mental torment. We see an already flawed individual fall even further.

In reading, I found myself thinking of two particular influences: the filth and horror of the World War I trenches and the drug-fuelled desperation of some of the US draftees in Vietnam.

Desperation is a repeating theme through the novel, desperation in the battle lines among the soldiers, leading to a variety of responses. I am left with the impression that McCarthy researched his subject well.

This is not a ‘nice’ read. But it is a compelling story all the same. In places I was reminded of Sebastian Junger’s powerful narrative about the current fighting in Afghanistan, ‘War’.

I definitely want to see where McCarthy takes this story in future instalments.

BOOK REVIEW: Allison Hewitt is Trapped

2011-09-19T00:01:00.000-07:00

review first published at http://www.awritergoesonajourney.com/

Book Name: Allison Hewitt is Trapped

Author/Editor Name: Madeleine Rouox

Publication Year: 2011

Publisher: Headline

ISBN: 978 07553 7912 5 (Trade paperback)

This is one of those oddities, a story originally serialised in a blog. Unlike others, I have seen in that form, this does really take the pattern of a string of blog entries, complete with comments from ‘readers’.

The story did draw me in, aside from confusion on my part arising from having just finished reading another zombie novel. To quote John Travolta from one of his very early roles, ‘I’m sooo confused!’ (and if you can pick up what reference that is, you’re an old fart like me!).

There is plenty of action with shambling zombies being cut down by axe, shot in the head, belted with baseball bats, teed off on with golf clubs and burned. While we don’t see quite the same level of social breakdown that is often typical of the apocalypse-zombie genre, we do see things like armed vigilantes. And those Black Earth Wives were just plain creepy.

Unlike many others in the genre, we learn little about where the original infection came from, or least not until a partial explanation in an epilogue of sorts. Or perhaps that is being saved up for the next book?

I have to be honest and admit that I did not find it quite as funny as some others apparently have. But yes, there were indeed sarcastic throwaways.

I did have a practical issue though. With all of these zombies being cut down everywhere and left to lie where they fell, there should have been one hell of a stench from all that rotting flesh. Or did the other zombies eat their own ‘dead’? It was never clear to me.

This won’t go down as my favourite zombie novel. But it was interesting and quirky enough to make me want to read Roux’s next book which is due out later this year.

Ross the Repellent

BOOK REVIEW: Thanquol's Doom

2011-09-18T23:57:00.000-07:00

Review first published on http://www.awritergoesonajourney.com/

Book Name: Thanquol's Doom

Author/Editor Name: C. L. Werner

Book Series: Thanquol & Boneripper

Number in Series: 3

Publication Year: 2011

Publisher: The Black Library

ISBN: 9781849700849

Backstabbing. Duplicitous. Paranoid. Scheming. Treacherous. Self-serving. Cowardly. You name it, the term can probably be applied to the skaven, the giant ratmen of the Warhammer world.

The Grey Seer Thanquol probably represents all that is nasty about the skaven, thus in his mind, is truly a fine specimen of skavenhood. He becomes one of those horrible villains that you just like to read about and see him come undone.

Having narrowly survived his unsought adventures on the tropical island of Lustria, Thanquol, in his never-ending quest for self-advancement, finds himself thrust unwillingly into war against the engineer dwarves of Karak Angkul. The dwarves are a particularly hated enemy of Thanquol's, courtesy of the dwarven Slayer, Gotrek, aided by his human rememberer, Felix, having previously thwarted Thanquol's plans in the past.

Thanquol was first created by William King in the early Gotrek & Felix novels, before being continued in that series by Nathan Long. But it was C. L. Werner who was given the task of creating the spin-off series, Thanquol & Boneripper. The Grey Seer has gone through several rat-ogre bodyguards, all called Boneripper, and now the skaven engineers of Clan Skryre have gifted him with the re-animated remains of the original Boneripper.

One of the things I enjoy about the skaven is the technology emerging out of Clan Skryre, which has a steampunk feel to it. That of the dwarves has a similar feel, although not powered by the corrupting warpstone as so much of the Skaven technology is. So it was interesting to see the two clashing once more.

Werner has taken that existing character of Thanquol and expanded it while remaining true to the original. In fairness, the constant changing of Thanquol's attitudes to suit the immediate situation was laid on a little thick at time. But nonetheless, in Thanquol's Doom the story of Thanquol continues and even deepens a little.

I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Ross the Repellent

Character development

2011-09-18T19:41:00.000-07:00

At workshop with Fiona McIntosh a few weekends ago, Fiona stressed the importance of having a strong female character in the story somewhere, at least if you want something with commercial potential.

As I continue to steadily plod along with Blood Redemption, my urban fantasy, I realised that the female character with the strongest character potential was not nearly well enough developed.

When I am thinking about characters, I need to be able to clearly picture them in my mind. Once I have an idea of them in mind, I usually go looking for a physical model to help further build them on. With female characters in particular, flipping through celebrity picture sites can be very helpful. With the proliferation of paparazzi etc, we can see people pictured in formal poses, movement, even in positions they may well rather not have been captured in. It is a little more subtle than my other approach of sitting in a public place like a coffee bar and watching people.

I had reached a point in my story where I needed this particular female character to come more to the fore. That was when I realised that I was a long way short of having developed her in my mind. The name I had was bland. I had mislaid previous notes about her and could remember virtually nothing of them. Most importantly to me, I could not picture her in mind. Being quite visually orientated, I need that image to be able to start hearing them, understanding them.

So I shoved the work aside and started trying to have a mental conversation with this person who was pretty much a complete, hidden stranger. I thought about how I was using the character in the story, what role they were to play. It started coming together a little but still pretty much a fuzzy, indistinct person.

Sometimes I find just walking away from things and forgetting about it for a bit, can be a good way to allow the right thought to weasel its way into the frontal lobes. There was a pile of DVDs in a pile so I began sorting through them, making sure discs were all supposed to be where they should be. The cover of one caught my attention. I studied it. This seemed promising. I grabbed a disc and slipped it into the player. I skipped through portions of some episodes, looking at the actor in question. That was the one, the look that worked to give me a visual to keep working on.

Refill the fountain pen, grab a notebook and start scribbling. The character now swiftly began taking shape. Not quite the same as the character played by the actor in that particular series, but it wasn’t my intention to just simply copy.

Having discovered my character and had her story, I felt a sense of excitement, wanting to write about her.

Oh, and the actor and series that gave me the needed nudge? Anna Torv in Fringe.

Kernels and inspiration

2011-09-18T19:40:00.000-07:00

Some time back I had the opportunity to interview US author, Diana Gabuldon. While discussing her approach to writing, Diana revealed that she develops a novel as groups of individual kernels of writing, eventually pulled together into the finished product.

Late last year I had the opportunity for a fifteen minutes one-on-one with author David Malouf. After briefly discussing my university research project, Malouf encouraged me to write scenes as they occurred to me, not waiting to begin writing.

As my urban fantasy continues to take shape, I find that I am increasingly applying both approaches.

Being one of nature’s anal-retentives, my tendency is to want to start at the beginning and write straight through to the end. But inevitably, sooner or later, I find myself stuck. When that happens, my work usually stalls. But what rule says I am only allowed to write in that linear fashion?

Over time I have slowly realised that creativity means being prepared to go outside that natural inclination, relax the inhibitions and let go.

As a result, lately I have found progress with the novel is becoming increasingly productive and meaningful by taking a particular part of the story and writing that as an individual kernel.

I use the yWriter program (a freebie and a little ripper!) to develop and write the novel. If a kernel does not fit into the chapter and scene structure already in place, I can slot it into a ‘yet to be assigned’ chapter. As things continue to develop and grow, these kernels seem to naturally fit somewhere in the expanding structure.

When I find myself thinking about a new piece or kernel, I start writing on it as soon as I can, if possible. At the least, I make some notes ready for when I can start work on it. And those project notes have their own place within the yWriter structure.

This seems to be a good way for me to write, although only time will tell just how effective it ultimately proves to be.

Perhaps we are exactly where we are meant to be...

2011-09-13T21:35:00.000-07:00

A brief word while I re-caffeinate myself.

I have had reason recently to reflect on a few things.

I love comedy. I admire immensely comedians who can do the crazy, way-out stuff that practically makes me wet my pants with laughter. Perhaps not surprisingly, I wanted to do it as well - stand-up. But I simply had no idea about how to do it. I did some work with Tim Ferguson early last year in a weekend workshop which was a great help but when push came to shove, I simply could not face it. This was more than the usual fear of public speaking - I have had enough practice at that over the years to be comfortable in front of an audience. I no longer need to make a dive for the rostrum to hide the fact that my left leg was quietly doing its own Elvis Presley impersonations. But getting out there and doing comedy proved to be too big a thing once I finally was faced with the opportunity. The state of my nerves and my sheer bravado are simply not what they were in my pre-breakdown days. So it seemed that opportunity had come knocking and gone.

In mid-October, I finally make that debut as a stand-up. And this has come about in no small part, due to Tyra Banks of all people.

You see, I was working backwards to come to that realisation.

This comedy opportunity came about after I saw a quite discrete poster advertising a 12-week comedy workshop program for people with mental health issues. Well, I certainly qualify there. I saw this poster at uni where I am currently working on a Master of Arts by research.

This Masters opportunity arose because I previously studied at the University of Canberra back in 2008, doing a Graduate Diploma in Professional Writing. It was that which lead in 2010 to a senior member of the staff encouraging me to return to do these research studies.

I was only able to return to uni full-time back in 2008 because I had been thrown onto the invalidity scrapheap the year before. Those studies were part of my pursuit of my dream to be a working writing.

While I had wanted to be a writer for some years and had a small but slowly growing portfolio of published work, it was during my all-too-regular sick leave prior to the forced retirement on invalidity that I found myself watching Banks's talk show, Tyra. In fact I found myself watching it quite regularly. And yes I am both honest enough and shallow enough to admit that it was the attractions of the delectable Ms Banks that initially drew me there. That and being too sick to do much else and too bored not to watch some daytime television. And on one episode, Tyra's big message was about the importance of having and pursuing your dream.

Having a lot of time on my hands back then, I did a lot of thinking about that. Being a writer was my big dream so why not pursue it much more vigorously than I had been to that date. The invalidity, as painful, upsetting and both morally and spiritually catastrophic as it was, provided me with that opportunity.

So it was by taking on board Tyra's message and deciding to pursue that dream which has indirectly lead to another dream on the verge of being realised. Which recently made me wonder if in fact I am exactly where I am meant to be, right at this time.

Peace and out

BOOK REVIEW: The Edinburgh Dead

2011-09-11T04:13:00.000-07:00

This review first published at www.awritergoesonajourney.com.

The Edinburgh Dead
Brian Ruckley
Orbit
2011

The blurb

The review
When writing an historical novel, even one delving into a bit of gothic horror as this does, the danger is always that of making sure you have your history spot-on. That has been a significant reason why I tend to steer away from it myself, because the moment you do get it wrong, nitpickers come flooding out of the woodwork to have a gripe. Like me.

From the interesting interview with the author located in the rear of the book, Ruckley describes his basic idea stemming from the thought that what if the infamous body snatchers who turned to murder to supplement their supply of corpses, Burke and Hare, were dealing with more than supplying medical schools? The novel only touches on Burke and Hare but does relate a particular ending to Hare which unfortunately overlooks the fact that there were supposedly confirmed sightings of him in England at a later date. That was my little historical nitpick.

From discussions with a friend of mine who knows Edinburgh very well, the descriptions of the New and Old Towns rang quite true, as did the policing of the time.

It is unfortunate that I have only not long finished reading and reviewing another historical novel also with a backdrop of body snatching, albeit in London. That protagonist and Ruckley’s protagonist have a number of similarities as does aspects of the plot. Please note that I am not suggesting plagiarism or anything of the sort, but merely that once you enter a historical setting like that with a protagonist who is a veteran of the Napoleonic wars, and there were plenty of those, the chances are that more than one writer is going to have similar ideas. But not all readers are going to have also so recently read a similar book.

The pace of the story drew me along pretty well until the closing stages which fell a little flat with me. There were also a few points within the story that puzzled me a little as to what they were intended to be doing. For example, an obviously darkly magical charm is placed in Quire’s room but we never really find out exactly who put it there or what it was intended to mean other than something dark and nasty was probably in Quire’s future.

If you like the mixture of history and gothic, then this is worth a read although it will not be making it into my final list of favourite books of the year. But then I can be a picky bugger.

Great workshops at Conflux

2011-09-11T02:49:00.000-07:00

That orgiastic delight of speculative fiction writing and fandom, Conflux, is being held in Canberra at the end of this month - see www.conflux.org.au for more details. Especially have a look at the workshop program - some great stuff there and you don't have to sign up for Conflux for all of them. Definitely worth checking out, people.

Another form of writing practice

2011-09-02T00:57:00.000-07:00

Learning never ceases. That point has kept getting forced home to me again and again over the years.

I have always like to make people laugh although I was never particularly good at doing it. I was fortunate enough to do a weekend workshop with comic maestro, Tim Ferguson, early last year and learned a great deal from that. Tim encouraged attendees to try stand-up comedy as it helped you learn more about the mechanics of making people laugh. I was determined to give it ago but when the opportunity did come, I wimped out completely. More truthfully, I panicked and couldn't go ahead with it all.

So that seemed to be pretty much that.

A couple of months or so back, I saw a poster advertising a program of comedy classes targeted at people who have or have had mental health issues. Actually I only just happened to see it among the other mess on the noticeboard because I stopped to use a drinking fountain beneath and tie a stray shoelace. Otherwise I would probably have never noticed the thing. Being a formally diagnosed loony, I thought that was for me.

Apart from having a bloody great time, it struck me that this is really a condensed form of story telling. The joke has a set-up (topic, attitude, premise) and then the gag itself which hopefully gets the laugh. And you have to carefully look at what words you are going to use, how to put them together, the all-important timing. This has become another form of writing practice.

Just as discovering poetry forced me to start looking more closely at my word choices and mental images I am trying to create, so the comedy writing has further reinforced that even more strongly.

It really is a great learning experience, not to mention one heck of a lot of fun.

The end result of the workshop program is a gala performance in the company of other, working stand-up comics. Hopefully this will be recorded by someone and I can post some choice bits to YouTube or somewhere.

A Plethora of Plenty!

2011-08-30T02:09:00.000-07:00

One of the joys of having conned my way into book reviewing (unpaid but, alas, you can't have everything) is receiving a new batch of books in the post. The lastest consignment to arrive is from The Black Library in the UK, having found their way to the colonies, Down Under.

This box in today's post was simply full of goodies and has me wondering just where to start. The selection includes:

- the latest in the Horus Heresy saga, The Outcast Dead by Graham McNeil who is among my favourite Black Library authors

- an audio book 'Red and Black' - just the thing to slip into the walkman when I head off to the bus stop tomorrow morning

- Nocturne, the third instalment in Nick Kyme's The Tome of Fire Trilogy; now where did I put my notes from the first two?

- joy, oh joy - another Gaunt's Ghosts by Dan Abnett! Salvation's Reach - and it is in hardcover which always leaves me feeling that I am reading a 'real' book

Thanquol's Doom - yet another Thanquol & Boneripper novel by C L Werner - oh boy!

The Red Duke - also by C L Werner and these vampires definitely won't be 'sparkly'

The last in the box was the paperback edition of the Sabbat Worlds anthology of short stories. I have to confess that the hardback edition of this is still in my reading pile waiting to be properly read rather than just occassionally being dipped into as I have so far.

With the sheer volume of books that come through, let alone a whole box of Black Library goodies, there simply is not enough hours in the day to read everything. But there is no doubt that I shall be reviewing at least two of these.

All reviews will be posted to www.awritergoesonajourney.com as usual as well as posted in this blog. So stay tuned!

Like an over-indulged child at Christmas who is faced with a plethora of pressies - which one shall I open first?

REVIEW: Legends - the AFL Indigenous Team of the Century

2011-08-30T01:32:00.000-07:00

I have made it a rule not to review books written by people I know or books they have been associated with producing. But I have decided to make an exception to that rule. Well, I made it, so I can break it.

A friend of mine works at Aboriginal Studies Press. I was intrigued to learn that Lisa was involved with production of this book about the Indigenous Team of the Century of the Australian Football League. I shamelessly picked her brains about it over coffee from time to time.

The book was released the other week. I was thrilled to have Lisa present me with a copy, complete with autographs in the front collected by Lisa's long-suffering partner, Ben (thanks mate!) from some of the luminaries present at the launch.

As I grew up, initially coming from a not-particularly-sporty family, I became a passionate follower of Australian Rules Football. That was when I began to realise that there were footballers playing at that elite level who came from an indigenous background. Barry Cable was one of my absolute ideals as a player. He seemed capable of anything. I still vividly remember the first time that the Krakouer brothers came over to Victoria with a team from Western Australia to play in the then-preseason competition of the old Victorian Football League. They simply cut the opposition to pieces.

Some of the truly great players of the game come from an indigenous background. We're talking names like 'Polly' Farmer, Cable, Jim & Phil Krakouer (at least when they were in the same team together), Maurice Rioli and more. It is great to see so many of them collected together in this book. I hadn't realised that umpire Glenn James had been included in this Indigenous Team of the Century. Often better known as 'Jesse' James, 'the quickest book in the West' for his propensity to not take any nonsense and report players, in some respects James took an even bigger step by becoming an umpire rather than a player.

It is only while reading this collection that you realise just how tough a road some of these men had to travel, football in at least some cases being a path to a better future.

Legends - recommended reading.

If you can't stand the heat...

2011-08-29T19:49:00.001-07:00

I recently came across something that disturbed me somewhat, and it left me wondering just how silly and naive some writers are.

An internet market for speculative fiction that is run from the USA, increased its rates for fiction up to professional rates. This is a bold step as it increases your ongoing operating costs. At the same time, it potentially elevates your publication into the stratosphere of being one of the 'professional' markets. The other side of the coin however is that any publication increasing its remuneration to authors, immediately starts receiving many more submissions, increasing turnaround times and workload.

It should be noted that increasing author payment rates does not mean there are more slots for stories opening up, just more money for those authors whose works are selected for publication. If more submissions are being received for the same number of slots, then there will be a corresponding increase in the number of pieces not selected for publication. One would hardly think it took Einstein to work that out.

It was very disappointed to find that this market now began receiving some very hostile 'how dare you reject my work!' responses to their 'thank you but not for us at this time' rejections. Hey - if you want to be an author, then I have news for you. Get ready for and used to rejection! It is just part of the game.

The writing world is full of stories of top-level writers whose works were rejected. JK Rowling's Harry Potter was rejected by something like eight or twelve publishers (depending on whose account it is) before being accepted. Stephen King's Carrie was rejected so often that he famously threw it out. It took his wife retrieving it from the rubbish and insisting on he try again before King's first novel was finally accepted by a publisher. The list goes on and on. Rejection is simply part of the game. If you cannot handle rejection of your work, then I'm sorry, writing isn't for you.

I have to admit that I did not respond well to one rejection for a non-fiction piece, but in that case I had been lead to believe that they wanted the piece in question. That difficulty was smoothed over and I now have an excellent working relationship with that publication as an occassional freelance author for them. However if I had responded with 'how dare you reject me, you scum-sucking pigs that wouldn't know quality literature if it bit you on the arse', do you really think they would want to be bothered with me now?

During a brief flirtation working in the visual arts in 2010, I found some aspiring visual artists responding in much the same manner because their work was not accepted for a particular exhibition. 'But I submitted my work therefore you should have accepted it!' seemed to be the attitude. However, like filling a fixed number of slots in a publication, a gallery has only so many places in which to exhibit artworks.

A professional takes these things on the chin, learns from them. I learned that from some of the best. Having a hissy fit because a publisher does not think your work is right for them at that time is not how a professional operates. Was it truly as good a piece as you could do? I was disappointed to receive a rejection for a story one time - until I later had another look at it. Oh dear Lord - how could I have possibly let something go out with THAT many mistakes etc in it! The human reaction is all too often: if it looks crap then it probably is crap. Getting past those errors to the story itself, now looking at it with fresh eyes I realised it was not nearly as good as I originally thought it was. Have you had others review the piece and critique it before you sent it out, by which I don't mean having Mummy say 'oh that looks wonderful, darling!'

Becoming a published author ain't easy, at least in the majors. Having hissy fits that a particular publisher isn't falling over themselves and breaking out the brass band for your short story, ain't helping anyone. If you can't stand the heat, get outta the kitchen.

A Heartfelt Thank You

2011-08-27T23:42:00.000-07:00

Since announcing that I now have to undergo the full brain surgery option to have my aneurysm fixed, I am really quite touched by some of the concern that is being shown to me, in particular on how I am going to cope post-surgery while I recover, with numerous offers of assistance, visits to hospital and so forth. One dear friend warned me to expect provision of home-cooked meals and the latest sci-fi movies to watch.

Yesterday yet another valued friend informed me yesterday that she had told her other half that if Ross needs somewhere to stay where he can be looked after when he gets out of hospital, 'he's moving to our place.' There was even an offer to drive me down to Victoria to stay with my family.

I hope all that won't be necessary, but all the same I am really touched and appreciative. It is only when you really need them that you find out who your real friends are.

Because I am not very good at these things in person, a heartfelt thank you to all.

Book Review: Wrecking Crew by Caesar Campbell

2011-08-19T00:02:00.000-07:00

This review first posted at www.boomerangbooks.com.au.

The sub-title of the book is ‘the brutal true story of the Bandios’ legendary sergeant-at-arms.’ ‘Brutal’ is no understatement. If anything, ‘brutal’ has been a simple fact of life for Caesar Campbell.

This was a compulsive read once I had started, unable to put it down. It held an almost horrid fascination like going past the scene of a terrible car accident and just having to have a look.

At times I found myself being oddly drawn to Campbell through his love of and loyalty to first his family then the biker club he was the founding member of in Australia. Then he would casually relate something such as the collection of fingers he used to keep in a jar of formaldehyde as souvenirs of people he had bashed. So I found I was bouncing between grudging respect and shocked exclamations that the man is a complete psychopath.

The book is an eye-opener about the world of the ‘outlaw’ biker. They really do see themselves as a world apart from what is the norm for the rest of us. It also shows how that world began changing in the wake of the Comancheros ambush of the Bandidos at Milperra in 1984, with many members of both clubs in prison for murder and manslaughter. It was no longer the tight little world it had once been.

Quoting Campbell...

“When I started out in bikes, you joined a club because you wanted mateship, and you wanted blokes to ride with. And for hardcore blokes like and my brothers, the outlaw bike club was the last place you could go to enjoy that territorial rivalry that went on between clubs. It was like being a Viking or Scotsman highlander. Not that we went around bashing people willy-nilly, but we loved that atmosphere of tension. The feeling that trouble may be just around the corner. ...whenever you were riding through another club’s territory, there was always the thrill that you might get stopped and end up in a punch-up. We fed off that.”

We also see how Campbell was betrayed by another Bandido, bringing an effective end to his time there. As far as he is concerned, Caesar is still on leave of absence from the club (part of their surprisingly rigid code) and therefore is still a Bandido, even though the man Campbell made the agreement with took the details with him to the grave without revealing it to members of the club.

This is not a pretty story. Far from it. Readers will find themselves by turn repulsed, respecting, upset and horrified by the story of Caesar Campbell.

BOOK REVIEW: The Edinburgh Dead

2011-08-17T18:44:00.000-07:00

This review first posted at www.awritergoesonajourney.com

The Edinburgh Dead

Brian Ruckley

Orbit

2011

The blurb

In the starkly-lit operating theaters of the city, grisly experiments are being carried out on corpses in the name of medical science. But elsewhere, there are those experimenting with more sinister forces.

Amongst the crowded, sprawling tenements of the labyrinthine Old Town, a body is found, its neck torn to pieces. Charged with investigating the murder is Adam Quire, Officer of the newly- formed Edinburgh Police. The trail will lead him into the deepest reaches of the city's criminal underclass, and to the highest echelons of the filthy rich.

Soon Quire will discover that a darkness is crawling through this city of enlightenment - and no one is safe from its corruption.

And wot I fink is...
When writing an historical novel, even one delving into a bit of Gothic horror as this does, the danger is always that of making sure you have your history spot-on. That has been a significant reason why I tend to steer away from it myself, because the moment you do get it wrong, nitpickers come flooding out of the woodwork to have a gripe. Like me.

From the interesting interview with the author located in the rear of the book, Ruckley describes his basic idea stemming from the thought that what if the infamous body snatchers who turned to murder to supplement their supply of corpses, Burke and Hare, were dealing with more than supplying medical schools? The novel only touches on Burke and Hare but does relate a particular ending to Hare which unfortunately overlooks the fact that there were supposedly confirmed sightings of him in England at a later date. That was my little historical nitpick.

From discussions with a friend of mine who knows Edinburgh very well, the descriptions of the New and Old Towns rang quite true, as did the policing of the time.

It is unfortunate that I have only not long finished reading and reviewing another historical novel also with a backdrop of body snatching, albeit in London. That protagonist and Ruckley’s protagonist have a number of similarities as does aspects of the plot. Please note that I am not suggesting plagiarism or anything of the sort, but merely that once you enter a historical setting like that with a protagonist who is a veteran of the Napoleonic wars, and there were plenty of those, the chances are that more than one writer is going to have similar ideas. But not all readers are going to have also so recently read a similar book.

The pace of the story drew me along pretty well until the closing stages which fell a little flat with me. There were also a few points within the story that puzzled me a little as to what they were intended to be doing. For example, an obviously darkly magical charm is placed in Quire’s room but we never really find out exactly who put it there or what it was intended to mean other than something dark and nasty was probably in Quire’s future.

If you like the mixture of history and Gothic, then this is worth a read although it will not be making it into my final list of favourite books of the year. But then I can be a picky bugger.

Book Review - Gallipoli by Peter Hart

2011-08-08T06:19:00.000-07:00

Gallipoli
Peter Hart
2011
Profile Books

review first posted at www.boomerangbooks.com.au

Here in Australia we are more used to seeing books on Gallipoli presenting a much more Anzac-centric focus on the Dardenelles campaign of 1915. It comes as a surprise to some to learn that the Australian and New Zealand troops were just one part of the multi-national Mediterranean Task Force and greatly outnumbered by British troops. Also making up the force were French, Indian and even troops from New Foundland (although the latter do not get a mention from Hart).

It is also not as well appreciated as it should be in Australia that the landing on April 25th, 1915 at Gaba Tepe, which later became known as Anzac Cove, was just one of a number of landings on the Gallipoli peninsula, both real and diversionary. Anzac Cove was also far from the worst of the landings - that dubious honour is held by the British landing further down the peninsula at V Beach.

Something that really struck me in this account was just what a great job the Turks did, particularly in the confusion of that first day. The invaders were often held up by far fewer numbers of troops who admittedly held the high ground yet were not that well equipped. The fire discipline of some of those units lead some of the attackers to believe that they were facing machine guns when the few Turkish machine guns were not brought into the line later in the day, depending on where the need was believed greatest. At one point a British advance was held up by the sight of a line of Turkish troops, laying on the ground ahead of them. If only they had realised that the Turks were out of ammunition and only had the bayonets left to fight with.

Hart is far more condemnatory of British planning and conduct of the campaign than is often the case with British researchers and authors. He also condemns aspects of the Anzac landing, while still paying the compliment of how remarkable was the grimly determined Australian and New Zealand grasp on their toehold.

It was also interesting to read some accounts by British seaman that shed some light on a significant aspect that greatly increased the confusion of the Anzac landing.

While this book does not flow or read as well as say, Les Carlyon's Gallipoli, it is far from the dry read that you might expect from a professional historian. For anyone with an interest in the larger picture of the Gallipoli campaign, this title is definitely worth a look.

Rule of Three

2011-07-26T03:29:00.000-07:00

I was recently reading something by a noted author but it just did not seem to be grabbing me at all. This puzzled me as at first glance, it seemed well written. After some re-reading, it finally dawned on me what the problem was.

Some time back I was able to interview the author, Diana Gabaldon. One of the things we discussed was the Rule of Three as it applies to writing. In short, repeating things three times will make a reader remember it, such as a plot development - but be a bit subtle about it. Similarly, the Rule of Three applies to use of the senses in writing. We have five - use three of them in a scene to really hook a reader.

In this book that I was reading, I realised that the author had focused predominantly on just one sense - sight. They had described in detail what things looked like, but rarely what things sounded like, how they smelled, tasted or felt. So the scenes tended to be one-dimensional which was why things were not grabbing me in any real way.

So the moral of the tale is to make sure I use three senses in a scene when I am writing. The dark dungeon becomes much creepier when we know that it also smells like the corruption of rotting corpses and we can hear the skittering of rodent feet across the slimy flagstones.

Review: All Day Long the Noise of Battle

2011-07-10T19:53:00.000-07:00

All Day Long the Noise of Battle: An Australian attack in Vietnam
by Gerard Windsor
2011
Pier 9

as reviewed at Boomerang Books

In writing any history, the immediate issue facing the research/author is that of information sources. At first glance, this may seem a relatively straight forward thing in this instance when many of the participants are still alive and may be consulted along with official records. What Gerard Windsor amply demonstrates here is that this is anything but straight forward. The problem of memory is a real inhibitor – different accounts because of different memories of specific events even comes into play with accounts written very shortly after the event, let alone some forty years later.

Despite this issue of conflicting accounts and memories, Windsor has compiled a detailed and very interesting account of the actions of the men from C Company, Seventh Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment (7RAR) in Operation Coburg.

Australian ‘memory’ of the fighting in the Tet Offensive in 1968 is heavily influenced by US sources such as film. Yet Australian infantry and artillery units on the ground also played roles. Operation Coburg saw the men of C Company assault a North Vietnamese bunker complex. This was no fleeting contact in the jungle or a rain-obscured contact and rescue as at Long Tan, but a concentrated assault over three days. It was in fact arguably the longest attack by Australian troops during the Vietnam War. Yet the events were barely recorded in the media at the time and recognised little better by the military itself.

I found the book something of an eye-opener as it told the story of an event that has gone strangely unnoticed. Windsor has gone to considerable effort to relate as much of the account as possible to the individual soldiers taking part, which gives the book a greater human dimension than may otherwise have been the case.

This account should interest not just those with an interest in Australian military history, but also those with a broader interest in Australian history in general.

a crazy 24 hours

2011-05-14T03:18:00.000-07:00

Note - I wrote this yesterday but blogger.com was off the air.

What a crazy 24 hours I have just been through.

I have been suffering a persistent cold for the last two weeks. I knew that sinusitis was making its presence felt. But I was doing the right things, plenty of fluids, bed rest, keeping warm and keeping the vitamins and other good stuff going.

Yesterday afternoon I made an appointment to see my GP today, thinking he would probably put me on penicillin for this sinusitis.

Last night, not long after heading to bed, I suddenly found myself unable to breathe properly. It got worse. I called the ambulance. Trying to calm myself, I tossed a few things into a bag, expecting to be carted off to the hospital.

I staggered out to the living room, knocking on the bedroom door of one of my housemates. Pete kept an eye on me for a while as we waited for the ambos. He finally went looking for them, thinking perhaps they were at the wrong place in our complex. I received a call from the ambo dispatch, claiming a crew was at my place, so where was I? "They're not here," I managed to gasp out. After a bit of going back and forth like that, we agreed that they would radio the crew to go back to the entrance to the complex and I would have someone go meet them.

After some more of the ambo crew wandering around, lost, and one of my housemates waiting by the empty ambulance, becoming increasingly frustrated, eventually they reached my place. I was put on oxygen and the ambo crew announced that they were taking me to The Canberra Hospital.

Shortly after actually leaving our place, the ambo crew changed their mind and took me to Calvary Hospital instead - approximately the distance away as TCH but in the opposite direction.

Dizzy spells saw me put in a wheelchair at the hospital Emergency Room and told to stay in it. Eventually I was examined more closely and put in a bed. Oxygen had me breathing better but my coughing was now so bad that my body was being tossed around on the bed like I had shoved wet fingers into a wall socket. That eventually saw me vomiting. Then a flood of really disgusting stuff erupted from the facial orifices, filling up a sick bag. And that is the nice version of events. I was eventually shot up with some stuff to settle me down along with having to swallow penicillin pills the size of horse tablets.

Off to radiology for an MRI to see just what was causing a now blinding headache. Scan done, it was back to my bed in the ER, being wheeled around like King Dick in the mobile throne that was the wheelchair. Back came the results from radiology.

"Well, Ross, that pain is definitely from your sinuses. But we can see... "

Some whispered conversation between the doctor and and someone else.

"Ross, we think we might have just discovered an aneurysm. We will probably have to do a lumbar puncture to extract some spinal fluid to examine it further."

Oh boy, I was looking forward to that - NOT.

Fortunately I was spared the joys of spikes hammered into my spine, with another MRI being taken after I was pumped full of iodine in order to make prettier pictures.

Yep, I definitely have an aneurism, somewhere around my left frontal lobe - two millimetres wide and six millimetres long. So I have to be a very good boy, behaving myself for the next week or two until I get to see a neurosurgeon, who shall then decide whether or not to pull out the Black and Decker to start drilling holes in my head and fish the thing out.

By this point, having had to relate my medical history a casual thirty-seven times or so (how come medical people do not know how to spell the name of my drug for Crohn's Diesease?), because of my history with depression and the possibility that I had been experiencing elevated anxiety helping to bring on the breathing difficulties, a headshrinker was summoned. A bedside psychiatric consultation results. From that it has been decided that yes, I am suffering from anxiety issues which are somewhat consistent with potential side-effects from a particular anti-depressant I have been on for some years. The wheels have commenced turning to get me in for a formal psychiatric assessment of my medication etc.

Just about then, my housemate who had been helping find a mislaid ambo crew last night, telephoned. He had been calling The Canberra Hospital, arguing with them that I had definitely been taken there during the night so where was I? Had they lost me? Was I in the morgue? He had finally tracked me down at the actual hospital I had been taken to - Calvary.

With my breathing back under control, having coughed a large part of the blockage loose, now being organised for further treatment by neurosurgeons and more headshrinkers, and actually feeling rather better, the hospital sent me on my way early Friday afternoon.

Remember that doctor's appointment I had made? Well I just had time to get there and give him all the good news. I handed him the pages of information the hospital had given me. His eyes opened wide and we briefly discussed the aneurysm thing a bit further. He also had a good tap and listen to my chest, confirming what a doctor at the hospital had said - my left lung still has a mess of stuff in it. And my sinuses are badly inflamed. So it is a course of penicillin to clean the mess up. I was supposed to be going to a writing retreat next week with some fellow staff and grad-students from uni. I have been told that definitely ain' gonna happen now.

It was about now that my GP had another look at the info from the hospital. I receive a drug infusion every eight weeks in hospital, to keep my Crohn's Disease under control. Each of those treatments is preceded by taking some blood for testing. This pile of info from the hospital included some cumulative results of these blood tests going back some time. It was now that another incidental discovery was made. "I don't like those glucose results," he said. It seems that I may be in danger of developing adult diabetes and need to go back for some further tests, once I have finished my new course of penicillin and gotten entirely over these chest and head infections.

So, in about eighteen hours, I have turned into an insane walking respiratory infection whose head is about to explode, splattering all and sundry with my diabetic blood and cranial entrails.

Well, you have to laugh, don't you?

One thing is for sure - with this run of luck, I am definitely buying some lottery tickets in the morning.

Oh by the way - is it just co-incidence that today is Friday the 13th?

To write or not to write - that is the question

2011-04-18T00:19:00.000-07:00

Earlier today as I was collecting a caffeine refill, I overheard what appeared to be a more senior student. He was complaining about the fact that as a computer science student, he was still expected to write essays. This was, to him, unfair and a waste of time.

What really concerned me though was the fact that he was saying this to a member of the academic staff - who was agreeing with him!

Now hold on a moment. I have worked with a lot of graduates over the years including IT graduates. Ever so many of them were frankly hopeless at expressing themselves, especially in writing. But the IT graduate does need to be able to write. They have specifications to work out with clients, reports to file and technical documentation to author. How good is any of that going to be if the IT graduate cannot write well? In my experience, IT people have been worse than average in this respect, which probably explains some of the messed up specifications and documentation that I have come across over the years.

Our education system in Australia has been letting people down for decades in this whole area. The 'authorities' decided long ago that things like grammar were no longer needed in the English curriculum. In my case, it was replaced with things like studying 'cause and effect' (useful but not exactly teaching me how to avoid dangling participles or even what the perishers are) and a rather fanciful description of the 'typical Australian' (a complete load of bollocks and thorough waste of time).

The complaint from students about not needing to do essays etc due to their specific field of study not requiring it, is hardly a new one. And it is still just as invalid an argument now as it ever was. But what hope do these students have when even their teaching staff seem to think that their students do not need to be able to write well?

Not happy, Jan.

BOOK REVIEW: Bossypants by Tina Fey

2011-04-16T00:45:00.000-07:00

Bossypants
Tina Fey
9-781847-4451993
Little Brown
2011

Tina Fey was just a young girl with a dream: a recurring stress dream that she was being chased through a local airport by her middle-school gym teacher. She also had a dream that one day she would be a comedian on TV.

She has seen both these dreams come true. And now, here is her story.

REVIEW

OK the first and frankly rather obvious question is why am I reviewing Tina Fey's autobiography when my more usual gig is speculative fiction?

Well, firstly, only ten copies were being made available to blog-based reviewers in Australia. I put my hand up for a copy, not expecting to get one. It was a rather delightful surprise to receive an email a few days ago that a copy had been tossed into the post for me. Next, Fey is a writer and I believe in learning what we can from those who have gone ahead of us on the writing journey. Finally, I think Tina Fey is very funny and talented. And cute. There. I said it, OK?

When I first elevated myself to the luxury of pay television here in Australia, The Comedy Channel was running old episodes of the long-running US comedic icon, Saturday Night Live. The humour did not always do a lot for me but it must be incredibly difficult to keep turning out comedy sketches year after year. My favourite part of the show was easily the Weekend Update piece featuring a quirky, bespectacled lady who was not above throwing the occasional comment to the audience.

To many people, Tina Fey is “that” woman who did the impersonations of Sarah Palin even though this was just one small part of her story, albeit one that brought her a much wider audience and attention.

This was a very entertaining book. While some cultural references are naturally US-centric and I did not necessarily always get them, it is fast-paced and very easy to get right into. It is a confession, the story of a journey, an account of life in the entertainment business, genuine admiration of others, biting sarcasm, self-deprecating humour and some lovely lunacy.

With all the many people Fey has worked with, particularly the special hosts on Saturday Night Live, there must have been a temptation to do a 'tell-all' about some of the 'd-bags' (Palin's expression) but she has resisted that. But some people from earlier in her life come in for some biting sarcasm and ridicule but are generally kept anonymous.

I am left with the impression that Fey is a bit puzzled by the attention she has received in more recent years as an attractive woman. Her list of self-perceived body flaws includes her feet.

“My Father's feet. Flat. Bony. Pale. I don't know how he even gets around, because his feet are in my shoes.”

I was also a little puzzled by Fey's references to the alleged low popularity of her current creation, 30 Rock. That is easily one of my favourite programs.

As a biography, Bossypants will appeal to more than just Tina Fey's fans. It is a delightful reflection by a very entertaining and perceptive person and keen observer of life, not to mention giving an insight into life working in comedy and television.

I have also reviewed this at www.awritergoesonajourney.com.

Review of Laid

2011-02-10T03:21:00.000-08:00

I do not normally review television. In fact I have never reviewed television. I stick to my meandering about books for awritergoesonajourney and occasionally elsewhere. However on this occasion I have decided to review the latest new offering from ABC Television, Laid.

This program was the brainchild of co-creator, writer and co-producer, Marieke Hardy. Marieke has an enviable television and entertainment pedigree. Her parents were television writers and producers. Her grandfather was Frank Hardy, noted Australian writer and radical (the polite family euphemism for becoming a communist) and grand-niece of the very funny and always unpredictable comedian, Mary Hardy. Any Victorian from my generation and back would remember Mary Hardy and her caustic, riotous wit on The Penthouse Club. The fact that Marieke became an actress and then writer is therefore not surprising although she has emerged to become a writer and personality in her own right. Her love and opinions of literature come through loud and strong with her appearances on ABC Television’s First Tuesday Book Club. Quirky, funny, intelligent and a vegan (which has nothing whatsoever to do with things but it’s a useless fact I know from following Marieke on Twitter) I was really interested to see what her new work was like.

Unfortunately I missed the debut of the program on Wednesday, February 9th. I was otherwise engaged on matters of earth-shattering importance. Oh OK. I was too busy scratching my fat, hairy ass and forgot. Happy now? Anyway I was able to legitimately download a copy from the ABC’s website today and watched it earlier this evening (after fighting with the DVD burner to get a disc burned that actually worked in the television’s DVD player rather than trying to watch it on the small laptop monitor).

Roo McVie is a market researcher. An old boyfriend that she privately refers to as ‘that dickhead’ has just died and Roo attends the funeral. She finds herself attending the wake with the family afterward and things go downhill from there.

Laid is a somewhat dark, adult comedy. It is not slapstick or farce. There is no laugh track, synthetic or otherwise. I hesitate to say that it is a clever piece. It was Chris Rock who said “If only smart people like your shit, it ain’t that smart.” But I thought this was a cleverly done and thoroughly enjoyable although to get the most out of it, you need to be listening carefully to the dialogue. The closing left things on a note that just compels coming back next week. I have already noted the diary.

10 "Rules of Life" from Tolstoy

2011-02-05T04:41:00.000-08:00

From www.happiness-project.com, these are supposedly Tolstoy's 10 Rules of Life, written when he was 18. Let's see how I stack up against them.

Get up early (five o’clock)
There's a five o'clock in the morning now?

Go to bed early (nine to ten o’clock)
And miss out on all the thrills of the late-night 'infomercials'?

Eat little and avoid sweets
Oh strewth - this man was a masochist!

Try to do everything by yourself
Nobody else going to do it for me, so that means I have to do it for myself. But surely it is a good thing to utilise the resources of others when relevant?

Have a goal for your whole life, a goal for one section of your life, a goal for a shorter period and a goal for the year; a goal for every month, a goal for every week, a goal for every day, a goal for every hour and for every minute, and sacrifice the lesser goal to the greater
This I agree with. I do not always do it as often or as well as I could or should, but I think he's right on the money.

Keep away from women
Definitely not an issue for me except that it's the women staying away from me! I think that my deodorant must emit the wrong sort of pheromones.

Kill desire by work
Man, this fella had the constitution of a Benedictine monk!

Be good, but try to let no one know it
I hide my goodness by being a bastard - and I'm good at it!

Always live less expensively than you might
Aren't we writers all supposed to be starving in French garrets anyway?

Change nothing in your style of living even if you become ten times richer
Oh please - continue starving in a garret even after you start getting the seven-figure advances?

So how do I rack up against Tolstoy? Not terribly well. With those rules, he must have lived the life of a particularly unhappy monk. Or were these the sacrifices he was prepared to make for his calling? The question then becomes just how much am I prepared to sacrifice for my chosen vocation?

Don’t just write it down...

2011-01-06T18:31:00.000-08:00

There is an episode of Seinfeld, the show about nothing, where Jerry has a funny idea occur to him during the night, writes it down, then spends the rest of the episode trying to work out what he actually wrote.

I am sure every writer has experienced the frustration of having that great idea pop into their head, failing to write it down and afterward not being able to remember what it actually was. Hence the thought that it is always a good idea to have a pen and paper handy. I first got into the practice while at uni, of keeping the pen and paper handy on the bedside table. All too often the solution to the latest problem for a taxation tutorial or computer programming would occur to me during the night and I saved them by scribbling something down.

One of my vanities (curiosities, eccentricities) is writing comedy routines for my alter ego, Teddy Rant. I came up with one the other evening and scribbled out a rough outline. Earlier today I sat down to do something with the idea. It generally makes sense and is humorous but there, right in the middle of a seemingly key passage, is a string of incomprehensible scribble.

What on earth does that scribble mean? Where’s my George Kostanza or Elaine Bennis to help me out. I wonder if sending a copy of it to Julia Louis-Dreyfuss (Elaine) would be of any help? Doubtful, but it at least it gave me an excuse to briefly think about the lovely JLD as a pleasant distraction.

So the moral of the story is don’t just write it down, write it down so it makes sense afterwards!

And my perfect match is...

2010-11-30T00:22:00.000-08:00

So there I was, happily tweeting away on twitter (Rossisawriter), when I noticed twitter's suggestions for who I could be following. I assume these suggestions are the product of some sort of algorithm which matches you against other tweeples with similar interests etc. But please, pray tell, what in the blue blazes of hell I am supposed to have in common with a bloody vacuum cleaner?? Yep, that's what twitter in it's wisdom thinks I am best matched with. No wonder I'm on my own.

NaNoWriMo 2010 and what I learned from it

2010-11-29T22:25:00.001-08:00

Well I have made it to the end of NaNoWriMo but could not have gotten there without my writing buddy, Lisa, cyber-whipping me there (sticks and stones may break my bones, but whips and chains excite me!). So what lessons have I learned this year?

I reconfirmed that I am a plotter/planner and not able to just sit and the keyboard with a vague idea and the story comes flooding in as some people seem to be able to do
Do not get too wedded to the original outline as the story may well want to be going in another direction entirely and that little person in the head pushing it in that direction may well be right
For NaNoWriMo - plan and plot further ahead!
I did not know my characters well enough and found myself regularly wondering "hold on, is this what they would really do in that situation?" so more character work in advance for future projects
That having a writing partner egging you on is a great way to work

I also now find myself wondering whether I am telling the right story. Further back-story ideas came to me that I now wonder whether they would be a more compelling fantasy in the first place?

Why exclude males?

2010-11-23T01:30:00.000-08:00

I have been a fan of Portia De Rossi for a long time. And not just because she is gorgeous. I thought her character portrayal in Arrested Development was simply brilliant. I also admire her for continuing to push for equal rights for gays and lesbians. For the record, I am straight, but I believe in simply live and let live, provided nobody is hurting anyone else.

I am, however, entirely puzzled by Ms De Rossi's stance on her recent return to Australia when she apparently refused to speak to male journalists. Isn't excluding someone based on their gender in direct opposition to her beliefs? Wouldn't it make a lot more sense to spread the word as far and wide as possible? Ms De Rossi is publicising her recently released book that targets helping other women address issues of body image and self-esteem that she herself has had to fight. Again, what is achieved by excluding males from this publicity?

This one really does puzzle me.

What does the BBC know?

2010-11-19T17:51:00.000-08:00

My Internet-friend, author Kim Falconer, brought this one to my attention. Apparently the good folk at the BBC in their wisdom have determined that few people will have read more than six on the following list of 100 'classic' books. Those that I have read are in bold font and those I have started and either given up on (Tolstoy and Joyce!) or put to one side to go back to sometime, are in italics. I suspect plenty of other people will pass the test and have read more than six of these as well.

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen

2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien

3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte

4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling

5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee

6 The Bible

7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte

8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell

9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman

10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens

11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott

12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy

13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller

14 Complete Works of Shakespeare

15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier

16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien

17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulk

18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger

19 The Time Traveler’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger

20 Middlemarch - George Eliot

21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell (and I HATED it - sequel was even worse!)

22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald

24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy

25 The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams

27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky

28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck

29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll

30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame

31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy

32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens

33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis

34 Emma -Jane Austen

35 Persuasion - Jane Austen

36 The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe - CS Lewis -

37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini

38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres

39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden

40 Winnie the Pooh - A.A. Milne

41 Animal Farm - George Orwell

42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown

43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving

45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins

46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery

47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy

48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood

49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding

50 Atonement - Ian McEwan

51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel

52 Dune - Frank Herbert

53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons

54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen

55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth

56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon

57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens

58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley

59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon

60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck

62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov

63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt

64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold

65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas

66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac

67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy

68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding

69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie

70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville

71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens

72 Dracula - Bram Stoker

73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett

74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson

75 Ulysses - James Joyce (boooooring!)

76 The Inferno - Dante

77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome

78 Germinal - Emile Zola

79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray

80 Possession - AS Byatt

81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens

82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell

83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker

84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro

85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert

86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry

87 Charlotte’s Web - E.B. White

88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom

89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton

91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad

92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery

93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks

94 Watership Down - Richard Adams

95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole

96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute

97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas

98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare

99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl

100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

I was a bully

2010-11-18T18:24:00.000-08:00

This entry is prompted by a piece about a little girl in the US being picked on for being different. http://tinyurl.com/22w6fzz

To my shame, I admit that when I was a young kid, I may well have been one of those bullies. There seems to be a degree of pack mentality among young males. In nature, the lame, injured, ill etc, particularly among prey animals, are often driven away from the rest of the herd because they attract predators. But that isn't much of an excuse for so-called civilised people. Get me one-on-one with those different kids and there probably wouldn't have been a problem.

One thing is for sure - if my parents had seen me pick on other kids along with the rest of the pack, I would have been in trouble. That was NOT how I was brought up. But even kids are smart enough not to do it in front of adults like teachers who could pass on the word at the next parent-teachers night.

In my second year of high school, for reasons unknown, other than he was possibly different in some way, I took a real dislike to a student a year behind me. And I picked on him. I recall one day giving him such a hard time that he lost it and lashed out, hitting me once. So, full of righteous indignation, I went after him and gave him a pounding. A teacher appeared on the scene, breaking things up. Still full of myself, I angrily claimed the other had hit me. Other students however quickly told the real story, that I had been the instigator. I wasn't exactly one of the popular crowd anyway (anyone seeing the irony?). So I was in trouble, my then less-than stellar reputation among the teaching staff dropped that much lower, the victim went on his way and I left him alone after that.

I did not give him much thought for several years until my younger sister commented one day that this young fellow had attempted to kill himself, partly because everyone 'hated' him.

That revelation really floored me. I was one of those arsewipes who had helped drive this kid towards suicide, even though I had left him alone for several years. By then I was at a senior high school and hadn't even seen the kid for more than a year. But, my God, did I feel guilty.

The next year, that same student now appeared at the same senior high school. So I made a point of saying 'g'day' to him. The look of mixed relief and gratitude on his face made me feel even worse. Out of a sense of guilt, I kept saying hello any time I saw him around the school. It eventually ceased being a thing of guilt and instead became just a natural thing to do. Did we become friends? Not really. But I think he appreciated knowing there was at least one person around who was going to at least make some sort of effort. And my greeting was always answered with a big, toothy smile.

That was thirty years ago. I have no idea where that young man ended up or how he is doing. I hope he is doing alright. Chances are that he's actually doing better than me. But I like to think that I have never forgotten the lesson that he didn't ever realise he had taught me. I like to think I haven't picked on anyone since. Well apart from good-natured stirring. And when politicians engage in stupidity, as far as I am concerned, it's open season.

I have had a mental list in my head for years now of people that I wasn't nice to when I was younger, much stupider and full of my own bullshit. I like to think that eventually I will find them all and simply be nicer to them.

As for Katie, the little sweetheart in the original article, she now has 435 comments of support from people all around the world, with celebrities like Alyssa Milano, Eliza Dushku and Tara Moss getting behind her. It's a pretty damn good bet that the bullies don't have anything like that going for them.

PS a quick update - Katie's story has really gone viral and soooo many people expressing their support for her. Yayy.

PPS At 16:02 Australian Daylight Savings Time, November 22, there were now over 1,200 messages of support for Katie and her mother.

2010-11-14T00:27:00.000-08:00

Right, we all know that da Vinci was a genius, don’t we. But to understand just what a genius he was, the believing is in the seeing.

I attended a touring exhibition of machines made from diagrams in da Vinci’s surviving notebooks. He made things like ball bearings. Now ball bearings are just an ordinary part of everyday life, in every motor vehicle for a start. But this was one heck of an innovation in da Vinci’s day. One of the things in this exhibition that really blew me away was what surely had to be the first self-powered vehicle: a vehicle powered by wooden springs!

So here is a gallery containing;
· Three different types of ball-bearing
· Two views of a seige machine allowing men to cross walls of a besieged castle in relative safety
· The exterior and interior of a tank powered by eight men with cannon facing all directions
· A cannon ship that fires in 360 degrees
· A robot!
· Water skis
· The framework for a human-powered glider
· A water-powered woodmill
· A spring-driven, self-propelled vehicle!

BOOK REVIEW: The Blood Countess

2010-11-08T18:59:00.000-08:00

My usual book reviewing haunt, www.awritergoesonajourney.com, is experiencing some technical difficulties. So for the time being, I shall post reviews on this blog and transfer them to AWGOAJ later.

When I first read of model, Tara Moss, becoming a writer, my initial reaction was 'yeah right - another celebrity wanting to play at being an author.' But unlike certain other celebs, Tara Moss is actually the real deal.

After realising this, I made a point of reading her crime novels and enjoyed them. After also seeing her in interview and even being on the receiving end of a tweet or two from her, I became quite the fan. Consequently I was quite interested in reading her new offering, The Blood Countess. That interest was pricked even more by learning of Moss's fascination with things Victorian gothic and being a little out of left field - how many other authors have their pet python, Thing, keeping them company while they attack the keyboard (the author that is, not the python)? And yes, I am honest enough to admit that I think Ms Moss is dead-set gawjus.

In all honesty I have mixed feelings about The Blood Countess. Don't get me wrong. I had no difficulties in becoming drawn into the story and read it in pretty quick time. That doesn't happen if I cannot get into a novel. However I was left a little puzzled by some of the naming conventions Moss has used. This is a novel with vampires, ghosts and general undeadishness. Pandora English has just moved to a darkly gothic mansion in New York, staying with her seemingly ageless great aunt with the mansion itself on Addams Ave (the Addams family?) The avenue is in the suburb of Spektor. Once you realise the presence of ghosts and undead, say that suburb name out loud just in case 'spectre' has passed you by. There is even a Morticia in the story although any resemblance to Morticia Addams ends with the name.

If this were a satire, that naming would have been a delight. But I do not get any sense of satire coming through, leaving me puzzled over why an author whose previous use of names complemented the story, would fall for this almost clumsy nomenclature this time.

I was also left with a sense that Pandora was not as well developed a character as Moss's previous protagonist, Makedde.

The influence of things like Bram Stoker's Dracula is apparent but that is hardly surprising given Moss's admitted fascination with that literary legend. And it certainly is not a crime to be influenced by something.

OK. Having expressed those reservations, the really important question was I sufficiently interested to to want to read the next Pandora English novel? Yes.

If you enjoy the gothic meeting the modern world, The Blood Countess is worth checking out. While different and perhaps not as strong a story that Moss's fans have seen in the past, I suspect they will like this one as well.

Stumped!

2010-11-05T05:15:00.001-07:00

Well I am blowed if I know what is wrong with me.

It is NaNoWriMo time. I planned what I was going to be working on. I had chapters and scenes mapped out. My characters were developed. Everything was all set to go and make a real push to achieving the 50,000 words this year. Except for one thing. I have the worst case of writer’s block I have ever experienced.

Normally I argue that there isn’t any such thing as writer’s block. Sure, some days are a lot harder than others but I have discovered ways of helping the words to come. But for some reason, not one of them is working at the moment. Five days in and I am yet to even crack 4,000 words. I am becoming more than a bit frustrated.

Tomorrow I am supposed to be meeting with my writing partner for a writing session. Hopefully that will crack me into gear.

Vale John William (Jack) Hamilton

2010-10-17T05:14:00.000-07:00

Not a rant this time, but a reflection.

Funerals are not the nicest of things as a rule and attending that of one of your parents is a sobering experience to put it mildly.

My father passed away quite suddenly recently, a week after his 81st birthday, and I was down in Victoria last week for the funeral. Dad had been ill for some time and had been failing. Fortunately, I saw him in hospital ten days or so before the end. In many respects, it was a relief that it was over. He certainly wasn't happy, even though he was terribly confused by it all by the end. In short, it was his time.

If there was one thing that my Dad absolutely hated, it was disorganisation. So his funeral was already organised, where it was to happen, his cremation, the presiding minister, the music he wanted played (his own recordings) and he had his eulogy already written.

Other members of the family organised anything that was left to be done. Mum had him dressed, not in a suit as such, but his favourite outfit which was what he looked best in. My brothers, sister, sister-in-law, nieces and nephews did a particularly good job of selecting appropriate images for a picture show that played during the service.

While Dad had written his own eulogy, the problem was that while being accurate, it did not reflect the man that people were going to remember, particularly his humour. I was asked to add to it, which I did with the help of memories from other members of the family. It grew from one page to almost four. On the day, I read the first half and one of my brothers read the second. It had the desired effect, with people laughing in pleasure with these memories of my Dad.

The chapel was a packed house. It was quite eerie to walk down the aisle, to the sound of my father's voice, singing. When it came to the picture show, people were talking quietly, making comments to each as pictures stirred memories, laughing at the humorous ones. I could also hear people in tears. A cousin of mine cried right through that part of proceedings.

My eldest niece, accompanied by the rest of the grandchildren, gave a short, tearful and heartfelt reflection of what Dad meant to them.

Even the weather cooperated. Threatening rain all day, it held off until after things were finished, although it made up for lost time afterward.

The true joy however was at the reception afterwards. As well as the family reunion that tends to happen on occasions like this, there were just so many people there that I had not seen for years and many that I did not know at all. One was a man Dad worked for before I was born. There was even a man there who had been at school with Dad, taught by my grandmother at their little country school, seventy years ago. How many years had it been since he last saw Dad? Pretty well every aspect of Dad's life was represented by that great variety of people.

The funeral director videoed the service and provided Mum with a copy on DVD. I am not ready to see that yet but in time I shall want to.

Yes, this was a time of sorrow and of mourning. But it was also a time of joy in remembering a man who touched so many lives, not least of which was the family that meant everything to him.

I'll miss you, Dad.

Call me Vinnie!

2010-09-11T03:04:00.000-07:00

Well it is now official: I am a more successful artist that Vincent Van Gogh. You see, dear old Vinnie supposedly didn't seel any of his work in his lifetime although I understand he sometimes bartered the occassional piece for food and lodgings. So how am I more successful than him? Because I have just sold my first work in an exhibition!

The exhibition is being held in the gallery at the Belconnen Arts Centre where I work. A week or so out from the end of the submission period for the exhibition, the curator only had a handfull of submissions for the current exhibition, Belo Bizarre. So I decided to submit several pieces just to help boost numbers. To my considerable surprise, two pieces were selected for inclusion in the exhibition, despite a last-minute deluge of submissions.

This was such a new experience for me and I was thrilled to see them hanging in the gallery.

This afternoon was a meet the artists function in the gallery. So there I was, ghosting around, chatting to people. Then I saw it. A red dot by one of my works. I was in such shock, I had to go sit down with a coffee. And here's the proof that it happened.

A real irony of the situation is that as the bookkeeper, I have to submit an invoice to myself for payment at the end of the exhibition. Here's a low quality image of the work that was sold.

So, now I am an artist. And I have the name badge from this afternoon to prove it.

To really follow in Vinnie's footsteps, I had better get to hacking off extremities. And go find a hooker to present it to. Now where did I leave that carving knife?

A life chosen

2010-07-31T08:28:00.000-07:00

I like to tell myself there is no such thing as Writer's Block. Sure there are days when words don't seem to want to come, when it would seem easier to pull your own wisdom teeth with a pair of pliers than to get a few words down on paper. But I tell myself, this is my job, this is what I have chosen to do. Writers write, so start bloodywell writing.

Wouldn't it be nice if that always worked.

Right now I am working on a short story. I can see the scenes in my head. I can hear my characters laughing and talking. I can hear the thumping music of the bar they are in. I can smell the spilled liquour and cigarette smoke. But what I cannot seem to do at the moment is get the damn words to come out properly. None of my usual tricks for kick-starting the right-brain into gear seem to work tonight.

This story is bouncing around inside of my head like an ant nest after petrol has been poured on it. But something has it well and truly bottled up inside there.

There are times when I really do wish I got my thrills from something easier, like wearing boxing gloves to sort fly crap from black pepper. But to plaigarise and butcher Mario Puza, this is the life that I have chosen. Still giving me the shits though.

REVIEW: True Logic of the Future - Boho

2010-07-13T05:30:00.000-07:00

Boho present an interactive steampunk style science-fiction theatre work based on the 19th century economist, meteorologist, logician, musician, programmer, 3D photographer, philosopher and cloud-maker, William Stanley Jevons.

The above is a quote from the advertising for True Logic of the Future by the Boho Interactive performance group. I was quite puzzled about what to expect. Seeing as I work in the centre where the play is being performed, I had an early sneak peak at the set which was enough to convince me this was going to be something different.

Things start out differently from the moment you walk through the door of the 'theatre' (actually it's a dance studio that sometimes doubles as a performance venue). The bulk of the area is closed off by a wall and you have to walk around the outside of it in growing darkness until finding a doorway that lets you into the performance area. You then actually walk through the performance set to get to your seating.

The first impression is of a nineteenth century setting, yet the electronic music playing unobtrusively and a crackling, distorted voice-over, gives a steampunk feel to things. From here I have to be careful what I say lest I be guilty of spoilers.

Despite the nineteenth century appearance and dress, it soon becomes apparent that the play is actually dealing with a near-future scenario. Even my nemesis, my former employer, the Awful Bloody Shithole - sorry, I mean the Australian Bureau of Statistics - gets a mention. The consequences that the characters are dealing with are decidedly dire.

The audience becomes part of the performance, being a truly interactive experience. A lot of work has been put into developing this very interesting, thought provoking and well presented performance - definitely worth checking out either at its season at the Belconnen Arts Centre that finishes on July 18, or next month at the Powerhouse Museum in Sydney.

Never give up on the dream

2010-07-08T06:28:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I saw a valuable and practical lesson in action.

One of the first editors to publish my fiction was my colleague in Canberra Speculative Fiction Guild, Nicole Murphy. Nicole was an author of short fiction and had been working at a fantasy trilogy for a looong time.

Last Saturday I attended the launch of Nicole's first novel, Secret Ones, the first of a trilogy purchased by HarperCollins. This was the reward of a lot of years' work, pushing on through all the self-doubt and conquering other problems.

This was a lesson for all of us - don't give up on the dream.

Good on ya Nicole

A child's way of seeing

2010-06-06T00:38:00.000-07:00

One of the advantages of my new job at the Belconnen Arts Centre is being able to see and interact with artists of different types. The Centre's Director actually introduced me to one painter who is also a volunteer at the Centre, as having an arts practice of my own as a writer. I have to admit to being somewhat embarrassed by that description as I do not consider myself an 'artist' as such. I am nowhere near being at that level.

The Centre currently has an exhibition entitled Earth Connections, as a celebration of Earth Day. One of the exhibits is a an electronic piece, a looping slide-show of images of a river. I was able to speak to the artist, Karen Williams yesterday. She explained that the images all came from one small stretch of the Molonglo River. As we talked, I began seeing things in what she was showing me. While still images, they were all of movement, either water in movement or reeds flattened by flood waters. Images of things started to appear to me as they had appeared to the artist. This wavering line of froth and bubbles looks somewhat like the head and neck of a swan. That particular bubble in the midst of a ripple is an eye peeking out at you.

As we spoke, I was struck by the fact that as a kid I used to look at things and see images within them, such as faces in whorls on a piece of polished wood. As an older adult, I seemed to have lost that form of observation. It was a salutary reminder that as a writer, I need to look not just at the immediate surface but what is within that surface or below it and what occupies negative space around an object. That form of looking at things then informs, influences and inspires.

I am inspired to head out, journal in hand, looking at things, seeing what I can find within them and taking notes about it, further extending my writing practice.

starvation or riches with nothing in between

2010-05-28T06:39:00.000-07:00

I have previously pontificated on the joys of trying to be a Working Writer. Today I have had an excellent example of how you can suddenly find yourself suffering an almost embaressing excess of opportunities.

Earlier this week, I accepted a position working with the Belconnen Arts Centre. It is not a writing job as such but more a return to bean counting but it is in support of the arts and a very exciting position, so I can't complain.

I do not start until Monday however the Centre had the launch of its latest exhibition this evening so I duly trotted along. I had been intending to wander along for a Captain Cook anyway but the new boss was keen for me to be there to meet a few people. So after a day spent buried in archives doing some fascinating research, I had a quick shit, shave and shower and headed off. The opening was quite pleasant and I quite liked the small exhibition. Some photographs by Eugenie Keefer Bell were simply stunning.

I arrived home and finally got around to checking the email for the first time today.

A while back, I had been talking to a company about doing some technical writing for them on contract, but they had appeared to lose interest. Tonight I found a near-panicked email from them, wanting to talk to me on Monday. So I had to regretfully inform them that I had just accepted another position. Quite a pity as I was rather looking forward to getting into that work.

Then there was another email. I had been approached about doing a small editing engagement but was recently told that it wouldn't be for a while. Another email this evening, also wanting to talk to me urgently about doing it. This is small enough that I will be able to do it.

After feeling for some time that nobody was interested, I felt rather chuffed that all of a sudden I was in demand!

Either starvation or riches and nothing in between!

Writing, serial killers and the right brain

2010-05-22T00:18:00.000-07:00

This evening I was supposed to be joining friends from the Canberra Speculative Fiction Guild to watch the BBC serialisation of Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy - our little tribute to Towel Day and Douglas Adams. However I am coming down with a head cold and not fit for public exposure. So I shall content myself by posting a blog entry before settling down to dinner and a Saturday evening television.

I have been developing a story about a serial killer. This was in response to a rather dark sounding anthology, Snuff Syndicate. I thought this was an excellent opportunity to try and extend myself by getting inside the head of a serial killer, attempting to create something that has a real and authoritative voice.

Research was the first point. So I have been reading about serial killers. It is so incredibly upsetting to read what some people are prepared to do to others. Even in an otherwise rather unemotional account, I still felt sickened by the description of an investigator on hands and knees in the crawl space beneath a house, crawling through the mouldering remains of a particular killer's victims.

I then decided to work backwards, reading about profiling to see how profilers create a profile of a serial killer. That was intellectually quite stimulating but still quite upsetting to see the depravity that exists out there. However, it did give me some real insights into things like the disparity that can exist between the individual's outward appearance and what is going on inside of their heads.

I envy those writers who able to sit at a keyboard and just start writing, letting the story tell itself. That simply does not work for me. Instead I am one of those who has to plan a lot, even for a short story. Having made pages of notes during my reading phases, I started mapping out the story idea. I decided to use the free yWriter program from Simon Haynes to help organise my thoughts into a more coherent framework. It is surprising to see how such a left-brain activity can stimulate the right brain into some serious creativity, drawing things out. And yWriter is a great little product, worth checking out.

The end result of this activity was a story mapped out pretty much from beginning to end, locations and characters. Of course the really hard thing to do is now write the actual story, but with all of that background now nice and clear inside my head, I can concentrate on letting the spontenaity take over during the actual writing process itself.

There are few guarantees in this life, apart from death, taxes, toast always landing butter-side down and the Sock Muncher stealing stray socks from the washing machine, so I cannot guarantee a story that will be accepted by the anthology editors. But if nothing else, this has been an excellent exercise in extending myself into something that I would not have otherwise tried to tackle. Although I have been left with a yurchy feeling that makes me want to repeatedly wash my hands, developmentally this has so far been an very positive exercise. And all we emerging/wannabee writers need to keep constantly honing our craft, just as the apprentice cabinetmaker extends his through the life of his apprenticeship and beyond.

Here endeth the pontification.

Following a dream

2010-05-16T02:05:00.000-07:00

I quite freely admit to being very much influenced by my 'mentor', Tyra Banks. OK, Ms Banks doesn't actually know about this, but she provides a role model (no pub intended) to be emulated. What really put me onto Tyra in this respect, was her message about the importance of not just having but also pursuing your dreams and I have blogged about this before.

Here in Australia, we have just seen tangible evidence of what is possible if you really do pursue your dream.

On Saturday afternoon, teenager Jessica Watson arrived safely back in Australia, being the youngest person to ever sail single handed, without assistance, around the world. Jessica is now all over our Australia news, and presumably around the world for her feat. The relevance to this particular post is her statement that this voyage was her dream.

Now I would not be letting any teenage child of mine try a stunt like that, but you cannot help admiring the girl for her achievement.

Jessica had a dream. And she pursued it. This just emphasises the potential power of that message of Tyra's of the important of having dreams and going after them.

I feel more empowered than ever before about pursuing my dream.

a little woot

2010-05-15T23:54:00.000-07:00

Late last year, I sold a story to Aurora Wolf magazine. I had forgotten that they were also including that story in an anthology being released in the USA later this year. But a contract has just appeared in my email.

Yayyy me.

When is the best, not necessarily best?

2010-05-15T23:12:00.000-07:00

Sunday afternoon and I was catching up on the weekend papers that shamelessly litter the place with accusations – you bought me, so flipping read me! At the same time, I decided to switch on the television to see what Australian Rules football may be showing.

As an ex-pat Victorian, it is near-heresy to say that I do not follow the AFL terribly closely any longer. Nor have I since my beloved Fitzroy got the chop. However a good game can be entertaining.

It was part-way through the third quarter of the Hawthorne-Richmond game when I switched the Giggle Box on. These teams were occupying 14th and 16th positions on the ladder respectively, with Richmond yet to win a match from eight outings this season. For Hawthorn to have any chance of making this year's finals, they could not afford to drop this one.

What I caught was a quite gripping contest. Both teams kept picking themselves up and throwing themselves into the contest. Late in the fourth quarter, after another Hawthorne goal, the Hawks appeared to have the game wrapped up. But no. The tired Richmond players picked themselves back up yet again and scored two more quick goals, leaving a margin of only three points - one more straight Richmond kick could see them steal the game. One goal was from a tired, limping forward, who still managed to pull off probably the mark of the day, soaring high, to pull the ball down from amid a number of Hawthorne opponents, then kicking true.

This was gripping stuff. I had no real interest in the outcome but the newspapers ended up dropped onto the coffee table, my attention riveted on the screen. In the end, the Hawks hung on to win by three points. But it was Richmond who were the moral victors in that last quarter.

What could have been an absolute nothing of a game, was a real nail-biter, leaving me to remember that the 'best' games do not always feature the 'best' teams. In this case, the 'best' was definitely provided by those who are not currently considered to be 'the best'. Perhaps there is a lesson there for all of us, to never say die, to keep hanging on, to never give up. In those circumstances, even if the end result is defeat, by heaven, you can still hold your head up high. And no, these images aren't from this game, but at least they are Hawthorn (brown and tan) and Richmond (black and gold).

A decision is made

2010-05-14T03:07:00.000-07:00

Well, I have decided - I am definitely going to apply to do my Masters by research. The research proposal is all mapped out and I am waiting on word from my potential supervisor if it still looks like a viable project. And I have started filling out the reams of required paperwork that have to be in by the end of May.

The prospect of this long-term major project still terrifies me in some respects, but it is an opportunity that is too good to pass up.

Fingers crossed that the university still likes me. :)

Reflections on being a Working Writer

2010-05-08T22:54:00.002-07:00

Working writers come in all sorts of shapes and sizes. In my case, it is a short, aging, greying package with a sadly expanding waistline. Bit of a contrast there with say the decidedly glamorous Tara Moss! But writers come in different flavours in the type of writing they do as well. The writers who have their names emblazoned on things are just one facet of the overall occupation.

For many of us, being a working writer means picking up what work you can, extending your repertoire into different fields and endeavours. As I type this entry, I am still waiting on news of whether or not I am going to be picking up work as a technical writer, which can be a decidedly useful paying gig. I recently began work editing a small newsletter. It does not pay a great deal, but it is income of a sort and in many respects, more importantly it extends that experience set and overall portfolio. When we are still at the earlier part of our career, I believe that what a job pays is only one consideration. We also need to think 'what does this job do for me, what experience does it give me?'

I was also recently sounded out about possibly doing some paid copy editing working on a manuscript. I continue to do a bit of freelance non-fiction writing here and there.

This sort of work is hardly glamorous but it helps pay the bills and allows me to continue say, "Hi, I'm Ross, a Working Writer."

My real love is writing fiction, telling stories primarily in the speculative fiction realm (sci fi, fantasy and horror). Yes, I have fiction published. No, I have not been having a lot of success of late, but I have been pitching my work to better paying markets, seeing how they respond as a form of measuring stick about how my writing may or may not have improved. I am getting increasing numbers of "really liked the story but not quite right for us at this time - please send us more" rejections. While it is frustrating to be told that someone likes your story but not enough to actually publish, at the same time being encouraged to keep sending material in is an indication that I have developed my craft sufficiently to be at least gaining their attention for the right reasons. That in itself is encouragement to keep on going.

In the meantime, I can continue to plug away at being simply a Working Writer. After all, that is what my dream is and I have started to realise it.

Romantically Challenged?

2010-04-18T00:49:00.000-07:00

This is a very special blog post. Well, special to me at any rate.

There is a new romantic comedy being released in the US: Romantically Challenged. This features on of my favouritist (yes, I know that isn't a real word but this is my blog, so sod off) actors, Alyssa Milano. Part of me fell for that cheeky smile years ago. And yes, like a lot of men around the world, I was devastated when the lovely Ms Milano was taken off the market. Well, we're allowed to dream aren't we? ;)

Another interesting thing about Romantically Challenged is that it is being guided by James Burrows. He has a big list of credits already behind him and has a pretty big reputation in the television industry.

Milano recently tweeted that being directed by Burrows is like being taught by a Jedi Master. That begs the question: is Burrows actually only four feet tall, green, wrinkled, with pointy ears and has a strange way of talking? Or could it be that he is actually a dark Jedi Master, murming things like “something, something, daaark siiide” while referring to Milano as “my young apprentice?"

So why am I bothering to blog this? Well for one thing, I would have to be categorised as more than Romantically Challenged. Romantically Incapable? Romantically Disasterous? Romantically Screwed? For another thing, Romantically Challenged (RomChallenged) hs just started to follow me on Twitter (rossisawriter). Kewlies! So if I blog something about them, who knows – maybe, just maybe, I might get a hello from the delightful Ms Milano sometime.

As I said earlier, we are allowed to dream, aren't we? :)

Research - exciting but terrifying

2010-04-17T21:15:00.000-07:00

I am giving serious thought to returning to university from the second half of this year to undertake a Masters by Research.

It was one of the profs from the uni who put the idea into my head several months ago. At first I thought she meant returning to do the Masters in Creative Writing by course work. But my last lot of studies did roughly half the syllabus for that, only leaving what I thought was boring stuff still to be done. But no, she meant doing it by research.

Research is one of those things that I have a love-hate relationship with. If it is something interesting, I love getting buried in research, finding out ever so many fascinating and useful or even useless things. But then the research itself can take over from what I was originally intending. "Gosh, that's fascinating - I'll go read a bit more about that." Before you know it, you have wandered entirely away from where you were supposed to be going. Fascinating, interesting and entertaining, but far from a good use of my time if I am supposed to be doing something quite specific.

At present, my research project is going to be centreing on the Battle of Fromelles from World War 1. This first engagement of Australia troops on the Western Front in July, 1916, was practically forgotten until quite recent years. Yet in many respects, it was a far bigger disaster than the Gallipoli landings that every Australian schoolchild knows about. Fifteen months on from the original landings at Gallipoli, what did this combination of survivors from the Dardenelles and new recruits, think about going into action in France only days after their arrival at the front? Were they thinking about nationhood and all the rest of the mythology that has grown up around the Anzacs?

There is a staggering wealth of original material in the archives of the Australian War Memorial, that fortunately I live quite close to. The prospect of all the reading I have to do in histories, biographies, diaries, letters and more that faces me, is quite daunting.

The anticipated project would result in a large research paper that addresses my research question and a large piece of creative writing that further addresses the subject.

For now I have to focus on determining exactly what my precise research question will be as part of my research proposal. Already the reading in support of that is proving a combination of fascinating, thought provoking and challenging. And that is just fine tuning the actual point to be researched.

With all that in my head, I suspect that marching in this year's Anzac Day remembrances will be particularly poignant for me.

Inspiration...

2010-04-14T04:18:00.000-07:00

A question many writers are often asked is "where do you get your ideas from?" The answers are many and varied such as having a secret address they send $10 to and get an idea returned in the mail or secret assignations behind a kebab shop.

One place where I often find inspiration for story ideas is monitoring markets for short story anthologies. The editors of intending anthologies can come up with some weird, wonderful and interesting themes. One that has really caught my attention of late is Rock & Roll is Dead: Dark Tales Inspired by Music. It doesn't pay a lot, but a lot of anthologies aren't big paying markets. But they are great developmental markets all the same.

I have been having some fun trawling through my CD collection, looking for tracks that fire the imagination for a suitably dark story. Leading the pack at the moment is Dark Night by The Blasters that was used in the Tarantino film, From Dusk Till Dawn. It has a deliciously dark feel to it that has the inspiration neurons bouncing around although I have not settled on anything. But there are other tracks giving me ideas as well such as Killer by Queen, 57 Deathtrip (I cannot remember the band off the top of my head), Space Trucking (Deep Purple), Ghostriders (who hasn't recorded that) and more.

There are also a couple of werewolf and were-creature anthologies on the go as well, giving me food for thought. That has given me the excuse to have some interesting reading of a anthology of werewolf mythology etc. Unfortunately I keep getting sidetracked by this utterly ridiculous idea of trying to write something about a werefrog.

The perils of the freelancer

2010-04-08T23:57:00.000-07:00

There are times when being a freelance absolutely blows chunks.

I was 'commissioned' to write a piece on a particular subject for a journal, by its Assistant Editor. I had submitted an example piece of my work to them and suggested a number of topics. It was that member of their editorial staff who selected one of those topics, asked me to write an a piece on it to a specific word count and source appropriate images. This was a historical piece. I had to do quite a bit of research that included quite a few dollars expended on photocopying particular sources for further research. I did extensive fact checking to make darned sure that I had not blundered anywhere. I also did an exhaustive search for historical images to support the piece. Finally, I delivered the finished product early.

This afternoon I received the unexpected advice from the same editorial assistant that the editorial board decided that the article is 'outside the scope' of their journal? Excuse me? You ask me to write a piece for you on that subject then tell me that it is not what you want? And ask me to in future send them material that is more in scope with your requirements? What a bloody cheek!

Having the piece ultimately rejected because they do not like the finished product is one thing. But when a publication's editorial staff request you to do a piece on a specific subject, within specific constraints and you deliver, only to have them can it for being 'out of scope' is another thing entirely. So I have wasted time, effort and money. Oh, and no kill fee either.

In fairness, said editorial person suggested two alternative markets which I have investigated. One would require a rewrite to extend the piece by another 800 words and is a non-paying market anyway. The other is for academic, refereed pieces and nothing like a market for the piece in question. So that advice was frankly rather useless anyway. And I am stuck with a white elephant.

As a freelancer, you lack the power to do anything about stunts like that. I am pretty damned sure that they would not like to be working for nothing.

Not happy, Jan. Not frigging happy at all.

Loss of identity

2010-03-26T06:04:00.000-07:00

A writer that I admire ever so much is Tessa Kum. Even in her blog, she is able to turn the most wonderful of phrases. I should be so envious that I hate her guts but instead I just quietly sit in awe, thinking things like “I wish I’d thought of saying it like that.”

In her latest post, Tessa talks about the loss of identity in depression. This struck such a chord with me. In a near-blinding moment of epiphany, I realised that is just what I experienced. With my mental health crumbling, a workplace made it abundantly clear that I was not wanted there. My job was not just taken away from me, I was eventually told that there was no longer even a desk for me to sit at. Never mind repeated medical advice warning my beloved ex-employer against these stunts. Or the workers compensation finding that linked that mental health injury to the workplace. Instead, that Awful Bloody Shithole (those in the know will understand the acronym) repeatedly and wrongfully denied any such link being found. Every single day when I was actually well enough to drag myself into the office, it was knowing that there was nothing for me there any longer yet also knowing that I was well and truly trapped there at the same time.

After years of investing so much of myself into my work, having worked ludicrous hours and weekends that I did not get paid for or even get time in lieu, at a less-senior level that had no business being expected to have to work such hours, I no longer had that identification of myself in the workplace to hold on to.

The great love of my life could neither understand nor cope with the mental jellyfish I had been turned into and it ultimately drove her to taking her own life. So not just one life had been ruined, a second was lost to the world entirely.

This loss of identity to people who desperately need that, is crippling. It cost me everything. And to paraphrase Forrest Gump, that’s all I’ve got to say about that.

Elizabeth Kostova in conversation - part 2

2010-03-19T20:05:00.001-07:00

And here is part two of my interview with author, Elizabeth Kostova

Time heals all wounds, but it also makes you bloody old

2010-03-17T00:39:00.001-07:00

Words help create images. They can pull forth old memories that you had forgotten about. As I began typing this entry, a song by Billy Ocean is playing on a nearby stereo, dating back to when I was 13 and had my heart broken for the first time. For literally years I could not hear that song without remembering how I felt at that time. And it hurt.

It just struck me as Billy O hit the chorus, that it didn't hurt me any longer. Well nor should it - that was 33 frigging years ago. Instead I found myself thinking fondly of that particular girl, wondering briefly how she was etc. Now is probably where I should be saying something about wine or some similar crap but I write enough drivel as it is without resorting to that.

Then my thoughts turned to what does Billy O himself look like now. So I looked him up. OK, it is over 30 years ago but all the same, this made me gasp. Now I suddenly feel ooooolllldddd.

Crimethink anthology

2010-03-15T10:26:00.000-07:00

Back in 2008, the Internet Review of Science Fiction (www.irosf.org) published an essay of mine, Space Opera Rules; But By Whom? I have not even thought about it for ages but to my surprise I have just received an email asking for permission to include that piece in a forthcoming anthology, Crimethink.

This collection is being put together in support of the work of Doctors Without Borders which I suggest is an excellent cause to support. I was quite happy to support the anthology. It should be available in the near future: crimethinksf.blogspot.com.

reflecting on Elizabeth Kostova

2010-03-07T06:32:00.000-08:00

I had the distinct pleasure last Friday evening of interviewing Elizabeth Kostova, author of The Historian and The Swan Thieves in front of an audience. This was a fun experience.

Elizabeth had a lot of interesting things to share with the audience about her novels, her writing process and experiences.

What really stood out for me though was her attitude.

This was a whirlwind trip for Kostova. Having just arrived from the other side of Australia, Kostova had radio interviews during the afternoon in Canberra then off for this evening presentation. She was later telling me that she had to get up at 4:30 the next morning in order to catch the first flight off to Sydney, to then catch a flight to New Zealand where she was giving another presentation that night. With all this happening, she must have been feeling knackered, to put it mildly. Yet Kostova was more than pleasant, answering questions in detail and joining in some gentle unscripted fun.

Afterwards, Kostova uncomplainingly signed a great heap of books for fans and bookstores. Each person seeking an autograph received at least a pleasantry and often a short chat. I could have easily spent another couple of hours chatting books and writing with her.

In my experience, not all authors are that accessible to their public and I think Elizabeth Kostova has set a benchmark that others would do well to try and emulate.

in conversation with Elizabeth Kostova

2010-03-07T00:14:00.000-08:00

Part 1 of an interview with Elizabeth Kostova, author of The Historian and The Swan Thieves - www.awritergoesonajourney.com

Crap?

2010-03-01T17:47:00.000-08:00

I’ve just come from the crapper, where I had a nice crap before flushing said crap down the sewer.

Hands up who thinks I’m being rude? Well, me old china plates, you’d be wrong.

Popular urban myth has it that one Thomas Crapper invented the modern toilet or lavatory. That is incorrect. The flush lavatory, properly called the Silent Valveless Water Waste Preventer was patented in 1819 by Albert Giblin who may have been an employee of Crapper’s. And other forms of the toilet with running water had been appearing since the late 18th century. So why is Thomas’s name associated with the toilet?

Crapper’s plumbing business installed a range of toilets with the system proudly bearing the name ‘Crapper’s Valveless Waste Preventer’. These were installed far and wide so it is not surprising that crap and crapper became part of the English language.

There is some debate about whether or not Thomas was responsible for the word crap entering common English usage. However it is apparently indisputable that the word did not appear before his time with the first appearance of the word crap as either a noun or verb not appearing in a dictionary until 1859, when John C. Hotten's A dictionary of modern slang, cant, and vulgar words included the definition: "Crapping case, a privy, or water-closet."

The name of common products entering the English language as common verbs and nouns is not unusual. In Australia for example, we tend to shine our shoes with ‘nugget’ rather than boot polish – Nugget was an old-time brand of boot polish. While there are similar sounding words to crap in other languages which have in their time influenced the evolution of modern English, such as Dutch (krappe), German (krape) and the Old English ‘crappe’, none of those words have any actual relation to defecation or excrement. Consequently, it is a pretty safe bet that in referring to crap, crapping and the crapper, we are merely reflecting the popularity of the device installed by Thomas Crapper and his plumbing business.

Still think I was being rude? Then sod off. :-)

Here endeth the lesson.

Ten rules for writing fiction

2010-02-20T21:39:00.000-08:00

Courtesy of an author friend of mine, here are some top tips from some big names about writing fiction;

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2010/feb/20/ten-rules-for-writing-fiction-part-one

Going too far

2010-02-19T21:36:00.000-08:00

Comedy often pushes the boundaries, forcing us to look at ourselves and society. When that is successful, there is an underlying truth to the gag itself. Take for example the classic and phenomenally successful Golden Girls. One of the things that made that show work so well was the underlying truth of a fear of dying alone, hence the four women banding together.

When things go too far, it is usually a case of a poor joke, made in worse taste, that doesn't have that underlying truth. This was never more evident than with The Chasers' frankly appalling gag about not bothering to give dieing children decent gifts because they are only going to die anyway. The only truth underlying that was that there are seriously ill children out there, dieing from terrible disease. That was not a reflective truth, merely an awful and unfunny truth that The Chaser crew made a shocking error in judgement in even coming up with a gag to exploit it. Matters became worse with an evident degree of butt-covering and buck-passing within the internal politics of the Australian Broadcasting Corporation.

Matt Stone and Trey Parker, creators of South Park, did an episode which reflected on the often nonsensical media and public obsession with celebrities. Why that obsession exists is hard to pin down. The effect on the celebrities themselves can be harsh. A case in point - how many 'child stars' end up basketcases? The episode in question revolved around Britney Spears. Where Stone and Parker pushed the envelope too far in my opinion, was with the set-up. The Southpark kids trick their way into Spears's dressing room by pretending to be her children. A depressed Spears, hearing that her children had arrived, cheers up, only to be crestfallen when she realises that it is not her children at all, but just more people wanting something from her. The depressed Spears then blows most of her head off with a shotgun.

That aspect of the Southpark episode was essentially making fun of depression, the underlying truth being that depressed people can kill themselves. For me, that unfunny truth overwhelmed the remainder of the overall truth underlying the episode – that of unfathomable obsession with celebrities and celebrity status. Perhaps I am more sensitive on the issue than others because of my own past with depression and the phsycial scars from a failed suicide attempt.

It is Family Guy however that are really incurring my wrath. This is a show that also often really pushes the boundaries. It has some very clever characterisation, particular with Brian, the talking family dog, and Stewie, the baby. However a recent episode used as its comedic line, making fun of Down's Syndrome and former US Vice-President hopeful, Sarah Palin. Now I am not a huge fan of Palin and what she stood for during the last presidential campaign. But, making fun of the fact that Palin has a child with Down's Syndrome is going too far. What underlying truth is there in making fun of something like that? I was left with a distinct impression that the creator simply doesn't like Palin and the Republicans and decided this was a way to express little more than hate.

Politics and political characters are things that are the staple of a lot of comedy. They all too often simply beg to be made fun of. But this stunt by Family Guy was nothing short of nasty and entirely unjustified.

There are times when I am made to feel ashamed of both being a writer, including my comedic writing. This was one of them. Pushing boundaries is one thing but simple cruelty as point-scoring is another and not acceptable.

Kids make cruel fun of people who are different. Where I grew up, people of other than generally Anglo-Saxon ethnicity was a rarity. They were different so they often became targets. There is one girl in particular that I hope to meet again one day so that I may apologise for my role in her regular humiliation. Lord knows, my parents would have had several layers of skin off my bum if they had ever found out the things we were saying and doing to the poor girl. Part of me knew it was wrong but I kept laughing at it anyway, which just encouraged the worst perpetrators even more. Another child who was at my primary school briefly, was of considerably lower intellect than whatever passes for average. I sometimes laughed at others who were making fun of that poor kid as well. At least I had the decency to feel guilty about it afterwards and stopped.

What I have just related was the stunts of pre-teen kids, thirty-five years ago. This controversial episode of Family Guy had about as much depth as those childhood cruelties. Surely as 'adults' they should know better by now?

Reviews and articles

2010-02-16T04:10:00.000-08:00

Some recent reviews
Eats, shoots and leaves
The sad tale of the brothers grossbart
Sons of Dorn
Dark Creed
Call to arms
Shadow King

And a couple of articles
A Visit With Diana Gabaldon
Google Schmoogle

Another rejection amid major competition

2010-01-23T21:50:00.000-08:00

I have just received a rejection for another short story. This one was submitted to an anthology being produced in the USA for release as an ebook.

The editor advises that they received over 5,000 submissions to the anthology. My story apparently made it to the shortlist, so that was an accomplishment of a sort even if it didn't make the final cut. But all fiction is subjective, it does not mean that my story was crap. I just need to have another look at it before sending out once more.

This experience shows just how big the competition can be in the short story market, emphasising the need to make sure your story is the best that it can be.

Too funny!

2010-01-14T08:18:00.000-08:00

One of the most unexpected and funniest things I have ever read. It is from Jessica Simpson's twitter thingy. I quote:

Dear elderly man at the gym:its hard 4 me 2 keep composure whilst punching at chipmunk speed when ur ball sack spills out of ur wind shorts

Maybe it is just a sign of my warped sense of humour but I find that hysterically funny. I have GOT to find a way of working that into a comedy script!

more book reviews

2009-11-22T20:30:00.000-08:00

Here some more of my reviews over at www.awritergoesonajourney.com

Unseen Academicals by Terry Pratchett
Echo in the Bone by Diana Gabaldon
World Shaker by Richard Harland
Grave Secret by Charlaine Harris
Shamanslayer by Nathan Long
The Laughing Corpse by Laurell K. Hamilton
A Touch of Dead by Charlaine Harris

Articles from an interview I had with Diana Gabaldon will shortly be published in ACT Write, the newsletter for the ACT Writers Centre and on www.awritergoesonajourney.com.

Parallel Import Restrictions being retained!

2009-11-10T22:42:00.000-08:00

In the face of strenuous opposition around the country, the Australian Productivity Commission had recommended to the government some time back that Parallel Import Restrictions on books be lifted. The whole slew of recommendations were, in my opinion, a poorly considered short-term view. The justification was that books would become cheaper. The income base of existing authors would supposedly be protected by recommended introduction of government grants. Tough luck for those who were not already published authors and faced an even steeper uphill climb under the Fels scenario. There were other means of making books cheaper, such as lifting tax on them. Instead, Professor Allan Fels and his cohorts argued strongly that the only means of making books cheaper was to allow excess production from other countries to be dumped on the Australian market. Significantly, countries such as the UK and USA, while being in a position to shift more product onto the market outside of current Australian publishing channels, flatly refused to lift their own restrictions.

This morning, the Australian Competition Minister announced that the government would not be implementing the recommendations. This is a victory for the entire Australian publishing industry. Significantly, about the only voices in favour of the Fels recommendations were a narrow coterie of big business interests.

Following is a press release from the Australian Society of Authors. While it is rather gratuitous as there were definitely more than just the ASA campaigning against these recommendations, nonetheless it does reflect wide-spread pleasure and relief at this morning's announcement. Ironically, Prof Fels was due to be debating this very subject at 12:30pm today at the National Press Club, with the CEO of Melbourne University Publishing. The topic? What price cheaper books? I wonder what dear Prof Fels had to say?

From: Jeremy Fisher [mailto:jeremy@asauthors.org]
Sent: Wednesday, 11 November 2009 11:24 AM
To: Jeremy Fisher
Subject: PRESS RELEASE: ASA Members Victors in Parallel Importation Debate!

PRESS RELEASE: ASA Members Victors in Parallel Importation Debate

The ASA congratulates its members and our colleagues in the Australian publishing industry in their united, sustained and ultimately successful campaign to retain territorial copyright.

“The ASA membership has once again demonstrated its quiet strength,” ASA Executive Director Dr Jeremy Fisher declared. “Our members have been constantly telephoning and writing to their parliamentary representatives pointing out how the removal of territorial copyright would destroy Australia’s literary culture and publishing industry. Their persistence has been rewarded. Our leaders have listened. Today’s announcement by Competition Minister Craig Emerson that the parallel importation restrictions in our Copyright Act will remain unchanged is a clear victory for Australia’s literary creators.”

Dr Fisher also acknowledged that the Australian publishing industry was facing significant pressures and authors needed to bear these in mind.

“Minister Emerson correctly highlights the fact that e-books and digital technology are having an impact on the Australian publishing industry,” Dr Fisher said. “The ASA welcomes change. We constantly seek new means to increase authors’ incomes. We are currently in discussions relating to fair contracts for authors with regard to e-books and products such as Kindle. We have also taken an active role in the US-based Google Book Settlement, which will see authors being able to pursue income streams for out-of-print works. The ASA will always seek improved income streams for its members in both print and digital forms.”

Dr Fisher has announced that he will leave the ASA on December 11 to take up the position of Senior Lecturer in Writing at the University of New England.

progress falling behind schedule

2009-11-09T02:49:00.000-08:00

Real life has decided to intrude the last few days. End result, I am now some 5,000 words behind schedule. I still have some 10,000 words done, so it's not as bad as it may sound. But at last I have a title now: Blood Redemption. That makes a better working title than Untitled Urban Fantasy About Vampires 'n' Stuff.

www.nanowrimo.org/eng/user/536154

And my moustache is still growing for those who want to sponsor it for Movember!
http://au.movember.com/mospace/132145

hit the 7,000 word mark

2009-11-02T22:50:00.000-08:00

In fact, I have passed the 7,000 word mark. But that is not a lot of progress today. I flipped quickly through what I had already done before starting today's writing and that was when it hit me. I had messed up. Now the idea is that you don't edit until after the end of the month but I could not see much point in continuing to write when I had made a fundamental screw-up in my plot line. So today I fixed that up hence the very low daily word count so far. I have a meeting on tonight but might get some more done after I get home. Maybe.

NaNoWriMo - off and running: 3702

2009-10-31T22:49:00.000-07:00

Well according to the NaNoWriMo website, it hasn't actually started yet. But as far as I am concerned, November is almost 17 hours old. Time zone differences can be a pain. Ask me sometime about the joys of conducting a courtship over a 15-hour difference.

This writing lark is easy, isn't it! The required average daily word count is 1667. I hit 3702 on Day 1. What a piece of piddle! :-) And people try to claim that it is hard.

Actually this was the easy bit. I have been playing that intended opening movement of my NaNoWriMo symphony of prose (and don't that just sound so grand!) over in my head so much that it was to all intents and purposes already written, just not via the keyboard. Not going to be that easy all the time I'm afraid, despite all my pre-planning. Although I could always go back off the wagon for the month, spend my time shit-faced drunk and figuratively spew rubbish out onto the page. On second thoughts, I don't think so. After being sober almost eight years, I doubt my body could cope with the hangovers.

NaNoWriMo - starters take your blocks

2009-10-30T21:43:00.000-07:00

In only a few hours local time, NaNoWriMo will be officially off and running. Not that I shall be writing immediately post-midnight, but I will definitely be starting my writing on November 1. I will post some progress reports etc about the experience as I go.

At the same time I shall be also busy growing a moustache for Movember - http://rantbyross.blogspot.com/2009/10/movember-let-growing-season-commence.html

NaNoWriMo is coming

2009-10-27T04:09:00.000-07:00

November is National Novel Writing Month. That would be better renamed International Novel Writing Month as it has extended way beyond North America where I believe the concept first started. But IntNoWriMo does not have quite the same ring to it, does it.

http://www.nanowrimo.org/

Anyway, I have signed myself up. The idea is to commit yourself to writing 50,000 words of your novel during the month of November. So I am gearing myself up to rip right into it.

While I'm at it, I shall also be hard at work growing a moustache for Movember, the fund raising initiative. I shall be posting weekly progress pictures. Let me know if you would like to donate to this worthy cause.

2009-10-26T23:30:00.000-07:00

Some recent book reviews...

2009-10-24T04:42:00.000-07:00

The Cold Kiss of Death

T h e Flight of the Eisenstein

Des cent of Angels

I have received a great heap of books to review lately so more reviews shall be coming out. Read them here or just monitor my activity at www.awritergoesonajourney.com.

2009-10-20T03:16:00.000-07:00

There are those of us that nature has very much designed as anal retentives. We need forms, structure and that sort of thing.

I use a variety of things including software for mindmapping and other things. I have just discovered what appears to be a nifty electronic means of tracking your novel in progress. It is a freebie courtesy of author Simon Haynes. Get it here
http://www.spacejock.com/yWriter_Version.html

Having had a bit of a play, I think it would be quite useful for the other control freak authors out there like me. :)

It ain't always easy

2009-10-15T04:24:00.000-07:00

I have been working on a novel for a while now. What aspiring writer isn't? I have been going great guns for a while, having done a lot of development work prior to commencing the actual writing. Writing sessions were routinely producing 2-3,000 words, sometimes more, leaving me feeling quite accomplished. Writers block? Pah!

Today I had a salutary lesson that it isn't always quite so easy. After several hours work, I had barely managed some 400 words. I felt I was almost oozing blood with the effort of trying to get the right words out. I quite deliberately try to write in that first drafting in as spontaneous a manner as possible. However, today that spontaneity just would not come, possible because I was adding in a piece that introduced an important character at an earlier, more effective point, working hard at producing a particular emotive effect.

At the end, when I called it quits and put the laptop to sleep, I was left wondering - was my lesser output a sign of having failed to produce, or was the possible greater quality of the work better on this occasion than quantity? I do not have an answer as yet.

poetry article

2009-10-07T13:05:00.001-07:00

I had forgotten that the October edition of ACT Write, the journal of the ACT Writers Centre, was to feature a short piece by yours truly about short forms of poetry. So now I am now not just a published poet (one published poem!), I am also a published author on the subject. Woo hoo - watch the head swell now!

some book reviews

2009-10-05T03:57:00.000-07:00

Here are some links to some recent book reviews I did:

memory-zero

saturns-children

lord-of-the-clans

a-world-of-hurt

dark-disciple

woot!

2009-10-05T03:47:00.000-07:00

After a dry spell, I have just received word that one of my short stories has been accepted for publication in a webzine. And the publisher also intends including it in a print anthology in mid-2010. The webzine should be out in late November or early December and I'll publish a link in here when it's out.

REVIEW: District 9

2009-09-21T00:35:00.001-07:00

The backstory to the making of District 9 is fast approaching folkloric proportions.

Peter Jackson (naturally the PJ of Lord of the Rings fame) wanted to work with South African, Neil Blomkamp. The intended project become bogged down as I understand things often do in the film world. Jackson instead now encouraged Blomkamp to redo an earlier short film he had made about aliens appearing over Johannsburg. District 9 resulted.

The first third or so is shot in documentary format, the moving camera and 'unscripted' appearance giving a real immediacy to the audience before moving seamlessly into the film as such.

This is not a happy film. The Death Star is not destroyed and Princess Leia giving medals to the victorious Luke Skywalker and Han Solo. This is a dark film. It looks at issues like seggragation, prejudice and the willingness of the authorities to be ammoral, especially when they have something to gain.

Following the appearance of alien creatures, nicnamed prawns from their similarity to those crustraceans beloved of our dining during summer, the visitors end up in a major encampment. With this film set in near-future Johannasburg, the irony of setting up post-apartheid forced separation hits the viewer with as subtly as a brick. However this does not detract from what is more important, the story telling.

The action slowly builds up and once that pace is achieved, just rockets along. I hardly moved at all in my seat while watching, and as the film finished only some 40 minutes ago as I draft this entry, my dodgy knees are still suffering from being locked in the one position for far too long. It takes a lot to get me of all people, to sit that still for that long.

We are left with an ending that is not an ending, but could be seen as set-up for a sequel.

The screenplay was written by Blomkamp with Terri Tatchell. I'd love to have a read as I imagine it would be one of those scripts that reads as well as it ends up being shot.

NOT a film for the kids and not one for adults who like soft, fluffy endings.

As a dedicated sci fi freak and lover of all good story telling, this gets a big thumbs up from me!

REVIEW: Pelham 123

2009-09-21T00:02:00.000-07:00

I'm not a great fan of remakes. If the original was any good, I tend to agree with Samuel L Jackson when he was first approached about starring in the remake of Shaft: “what's wrong with the one we've got?”

I remember The Taking of Pelham 123 as a fast-paced thrill of a film. Raymond Shaw was memorable as the clinically cold, calculating criminal, holding a train of hostages for ransom in the New York Underground.

With that original being such a good film, I had to ask, why remake it? Unless you can improve on the original, then why not leave well enough alone? The exception to that rule, to my mind, is when a filmmaker can bring a new dimensino to things without detracting from the original story.

It was with some trepidation that I went to see Pelham 123, the remake starring John Travolta. While I long ago accepted that the mature Travolta can definitely act, part of me still associates him with Saturday Night Fever, or worse, with Grease - bland vomit-inducing. A part of me also still remembers him as Vinnie Barbarino in Welcome Back Kotter (am I really that old?). How was Director Tony Scott going to address things. Was it just going to be a cheap copy? The original story butchered beyond recognition?

Thankfully, my fears were not realised.

Travolta was menacing from the moment he first appears at the start of the film. Kudos to the make-up people who ensured that the tattoo on his neck actually looked properly aged and not just obviously slapped on for the role as is too often the case. Verisimiltude folks!

Whereas Shaw's portrayal of the villain was a man always in control, even when things were getting away from him, Travolta's is far wilder. He goes off into rants at the drop of a hat, to the point of foaming at the mouth. Yet before killing people, he tends to apologise for what he is about to do.

It is easy to forget beforehand that the film also stars Denzel Washington who was an excellent counter-point to Travolta's character. There was nothing particularly stand-out about his performance but then we have been spoiled over the years with solid-to-excellent performances by Washington, film after film. Both Travolta and Washington were credible and believable in their roles, giving that all-important suspension of disbelief by the audience.

A good supporting cast rounded things out, particularly with James Gandolfini as a jaded New Your City Mayor, who cannot wait for his term to end so he can get the hell out of the place.

The film managed to retain all the original crispness of the original but deepened things by a greater exploration of the characters involved. I won't say that this is better than the original, but Pelham 123 is definitely worth seeing in its own right.

Well done to the original novel's author, John Godey, and scriptwriter, Brian Helgeland.

This one gets a big thumbs up from me!

REVIEW: Watchmen - what a film!

2009-09-19T02:47:00.000-07:00

I had heard that Watchmen was a good film but I never got around to seeing it at the cinema. I recently bought a copy of it on DVD, entirely on a whim. Oh wow - am I now regretting not going to see it on the big screen!

This film simply blew me away. As a rule, the idea of Superheros who are able to maintain their secret identity by putting on a simple mask that just covers their eyes, really gets my goat. Like, who can honestly believe the idea that Superman has been able to hide as Clark Kent for all these years by simply combing his hair over and slipping on a pair of hornrim glasses. But the power of Watchmen drew me in, entirely suspending disbelief.

The camera work was brilliantly shot, with scenes and shots blending just so seamlessly, with even moves into CGI not being noticeable, apart from the obvious exception of the bright blue Dr Manhattan.

Jackie Earle Haley was brilliant as Rorschach, the near-sociopath. The power of his performance was simply amazing. Jessica Alba and other established gorgeous young babes of the screen were considedered for the role of Laurie - Silk Spectre II - but were considered too well known to be taken seriously in the role. Instead Malin Åkerman was cast in the role. And it was a great move. She was equally as wonderful in her way, but also looked hawt!

What an different view of superheros was presented - dark, dangerous. But that was what the original Batmen was like - practically a vigelante. But I didn't see the willing sacrifice of some 15 million people to save the world even remotely coming.

I am not generally a great lover of film treatments of comics and graphic novels. All too often they are either soft and fluffy, lacking the original edge, or end up lacking all credibility. I have not read the originals but there was nothing soft or fluffy about this film, nor was it lacking credibility in the slightest. This was hard, edgy stuff and absolutely compelling viewing.

This one is a winner!
%

Rejection doesn't have to hurt

2009-08-02T08:03:00.000-07:00

I received another rejection the other day. Nothing new there. But this one had some positives in it.

Hi Ross, we have decided not to use XXX for the XXX anthology. It's a good story with good characters, prose, pacing, etc., and, in fact, was among the final few we selected from the hundreds of stories we received where we'll select the stories that'll go into the anthology.

So it appears that I made the short list out of hundreds received. That is nice to know. After another quick review, it has been sent out to another publication.

The original story was in fact penned some years ago. And it was presented as derivative crap. Not surprisingly, it was rejected. The fact that a revised version of the story has made it down the final shortlist of an international anthology speaks volumes for how much my writing has improved, not least of which being my appreciation of what a story actually is.

I also have several other short stories out with editors at the moment along with a speculative poem and more getting close to being ready to be sent out.

Sadly, my romantic comedy film script has stalled badly. I thought I would have difficulties with the romantic bits but instead it has been the drama that posed problems in scripting. It has been shelved for the moment, but most definitely not forgotten.

REVIEW: Shatter by Michael Robotham

2009-06-12T21:17:00.001-07:00

I came to appreciate Michael Robotham's writing not quite a year ago. His novels have a dark, psychological grit to them, in total contrast to the man himself when you meet him.

In Shatter, I think Robotham has reached a new high. Our returning protagonist, Joe O'Loughlin, is more human than ever, with the spectre of his Parkinson's Disease overhanging everything he does. The antagonist truly creeps me out. Having met and chatted to Robotham, it is so hard to equate that smiling, quietly spoken man with the dark, twisted antagonist he has conjured up. That is the mark of a true storyteller.

At times Shatter rather disturbed me as I saw just how the human spirit can be warped and then broken. But I just had to keep reading. The Sunday Telegraph described the novel as 'nail-biting suspense of the highest order.' They weren't kidding. This is true, edge-of-the-seat thriller material, full of characters so real that you can almost visualise them leaning over your shoulder as you read.

Robotham has created such a powerful and believable antagonist that about two-thirds of the way through reading, I found myself wondering 'how can they ever catch this bloke?'.

Underlying events is the question of what sort of world do we live in where the authorities sanction creation of a monster only to lose control of him. It makes you ask questions like just what does go on in places like Guantanamo? Or on the other side of the terrorism conflict for that matter.

This is powerful writing at its best. The only thing that I could fault was a minor copy-editing issue that slipped past editorial and proofreading.

Compelling, believable characters. An engaging plot that hooks you from the outset. First class writing. Definitely worth reading!

Shatter
Michael Robotham
Sphere
ISBN 978-0-7515-3731-4

revealing plot through dialogue is bad??

2009-04-11T15:07:00.001-07:00

I have just received probably the strangest justification for rejection of a story that I have received yet. The editor concerned did not like the fact that I revealed plot through the dialogue. But that is showing the reader - would they have preferred that I just dump big chunks of exposition and narrative, telling the reader what is happening? Don't get me wrong - it wasn't just all dialogue and nothing else. There was a lot of action going with that dialogue. But according to this particular editor, revealing plot through dialogue is bad?

I've never heard of such a thing. Bloody nonsense in my opinion, but then they are just as entitled to their opinion as I am.

Some thoughts inspired by Sylvia Plath's poetry

2009-03-30T10:54:00.000-07:00

Sylvia Plath had a short life - 1932-1963. She worked at her poetry for a number of years, but particularly in the last couple of years of her life.

Her husband, Ted Hughes, interestingly described her as rarely discarding a poem but continuing to work on it to get something out of it. Quoting Hughes, if she could not get a table out of the material, she was quite happy to get a chair or even a toy. The product for her was not so much a successful poem, as something that had temporarily exhausted her ingenuity.

I have been reading a lot of Plath's poetry lately. It is often very powerful in its observations. Consider the following extract from Mushrooms.

Overnight, very
Whitely, discretely,
Very quietly

Our toes, our noses
Take hold on the loam
Acquire the air

How can you fail to see mushrooms in your head, emerging, growing, on reading those lines? In my opinion, this is what makes that powerful verse.

To be able to write like that requires great observation of details in what surrounds us - something that every writer needs to be able to do. The writer's journal or notebook is good for aiding this. I am rarely without pen and paper to hand and scribble down all sorts of things that catch my eye. In theory these notes are all transcribed into my journal although I must admit to having been terribly slack on that front of late.

I was sitting outside as I first began to scribble these thoughts.

A Crimson Rosella (a red and blue type of parrot for my friends outside of Australia) was feeding on the remnants of a sunflower head in the garden, the seeds audibly cracking in its beak with sounds like the clacking of an old-fashioned typewriter. A large, black Chuff swooped down in a smooth glide to land on the edge of the bird bath, to watch me suspiciously before taking a drink. Its strange, yellow eye, looks like a solitary corn kernel in the middle of an ebony plate. A plucky Mudlark - a smallish bird in striking black and white - darted in close to my chair, checking the ground for edibles before darting away again. A Noisy Miner - related to the Asian or Indian Mynah - perched on the edge of a flower pot, glares around. This is his domain! How dare these other birds intrude!

Moving so quickly that the eye is hard pressed to distinguish the actual movements, a skink darted across the pavers, from one bit of shelter to another, its body all sinewy movement in one moment and frozen stillness the next.

All fascinating little observations in only a few minutes. Several poems have resulted from these and I look forward to using those observations in creating a sense of place in a future story.

2009-03-24T05:12:00.001-07:00

I have just submitted a story to an anthology. This piece was a little different from my usual fare. It is a bit of alternate history with overtones of supernatural horror.

Researching the necessary historical aspects of Elizabethan England proved to be fascinating as to almost take over from the actual story telling. I had to remind myself that I was not writing a history but story within a particular historical setting. There is a significant difference.

So what next?

I have a script for a possible feature-length film under development. It is a romantic comedy. The comedic bits proved easy to do as did a comedic subplot. But the dramatic scenes are proving more problematic to get down. I shall keep plugging away at it as finishing such a large project will be a good test of my ability to stick at things.

I have been incredibly slack with recording things in my Writing Journal. But last Friday evening I attended a poetry reading with Australian poet, Les Murray. I sat there, scribbling thoughts on a scrap of paper as they occured to me. I also had the opportunity to talk to Les afterwards and tell him how I had adopted him as my internal Censor during poetry studies at university last year. It was a thill to speak to someone of that stature/

Those thoughts I captured have to be written up in my Writing Journal as the start of recording in it on a regular basis once more. I also have various other thoughts and ideas scrawled on random bits of paper that also need to be transcribed into that Journal.

I have a program of anthology targets that I wish to submit to over the rest of 2009. The next target is an anthology of zombie poetry of all things. But how to tackle such a thing?

First some research into zombies, looking for clues on what to write about. Next thoughts about possible poetic style. I was recently reading some of Kipling's poetry and was struck by its story-telling nature - I think that is the way to go with this piece.

The first draft has some twenty stanzas although a lot of editing is required yet.

Stay tuned to see how I go.

the talamaur

2009-03-16T02:55:00.000-07:00

During a Flycon panel about vampires, I referred to an Australian vampiric myth and said I would dig the details out and post them here. Another panel member posted details of an Australian vampire myth, but that turns out not to be the one I recently read about.

Legends of Blood: the Vampire in History and Myth, Wayne Bartlett and Flavia Idriceanu

Even Australia has its own variant, the talamaur. This is a living vampire, which could extract an residual life force trapped in the body from a recently dead corpse (an interesting case of rule reversal).

That's it. Finding out more about this is now on my things-to-research-list and should I find out anything more in the future, I will post in here.

The Westler - a film review

2009-01-24T05:08:00.000-08:00

I am a long-time fan of Mickey Rourke. He always seems to bring a brooding sense of menace to his roles that intrigues me. His career stalled with personal problems but The Wrestler was announced as being the resurrection of his career. So I was interested to see just how the film lived up to that degree of hype.

I was impressed. Rourke was perfect for that role and his award success to date and Oscar nomination was well deserved. I had quite deliberately not read anything about the film before going to the theatre. It was therefore a pleasant surprise to see that Marisa Tomei was his co-star as I have a real soft spot for her. Her Oscar nomination was also well deserved.

Twenty years ago, Randy 'The Ram' Robinson was at the top of the professional wrestling game. Today, he is stacking supermarket shelves and struggling to pay the rent on a mobile home in a trailer park. Reliant on painkillers and steroids, he continues to wrestle in small shows for die-hard fans.

Early in the film we see a wonderful scene 'backstage' where the wrestlers are deciding what moves are going to be done in which match.

Following a particularly brutal match that is more gore fest than anything else, Randy is forced to re-evaluate his life. His only real relationship is with the aging stripper, Cassidy (Tormei). Their relationship starts to develop and he also re-establishes contact with his long-estranged daughter. But the only world that Randy is able to really make sense of is that of professional wrestling. Things begin to unravel once more and Randy has to find some way to cope.

There will be many people who will be turned off from the film because of the professional wrestling angle. But it is much more than that. It is much grittier and darker than Stallone's Rocky and does not try to hide from the fact that professional wrestling is a performance, albeit one that can be brutally hard on the performers. The film also looks at the question of how does a professional athlete or performer cope once their best days are behind them and that world no longer really wants them.

Mickey Rourke is simply wonderful in this role. He is more than an actor playing that role, he becomes Randy 'The Ram' Robinson. I suspect his performance may reflect the fact that the film could be seen as something of a metaphor for his own life and career. Whatever the case, it was wonderful. Marisa Tomei was a wonderful support and looked wonderful - and I'm not just saying that because she is seen in full swing as a bare-breasted pole dancer and lap dancer. But then again I am rather biased about Ms Tomei (be still my beating heart).

I thoroughly recommend the film.