Have We Had Help?

Reading and the modern world

2012-03-08T06:47:00.000-08:00

How often have you heard someone say – I love books, but I don’t have the time to read? What a complete load of baloney!

In this day and age, given the number of electronic reading devices like Amazon’s Kindle, or Barnes & Noble’s Nook, not to mention applications designed for your smart phone there is no excuse.

Millions of commuters use public transport like trains and buses to travel to and from work, whether the journey takes ten minutes or an hour or more, that’s the time when they can catch up on their reading. These days, papers, periodicals and magazines as well as books are all available electronically.

When you hear someone say they haven’t got the time, call their bluff. If you prefer to hold a book, newspaper, periodical or magazine in your hand – buy one and read it!

Truth be told, they can’t be bothered reading, preferring to slob out in front of the television. If they read anything at all, it’s probably the football result on the back page of the gutter press rags.

What example are they setting their children? Get reading!

The Seventh Age

2012-03-07T04:33:00.000-08:00

Have you ever thought seriously about the concept of time? It got me thinking. Last year I wrote a first draft sci-fi tale about it. I had been reading all of the available material about the whole notion of time ending at the end of December this year, according to the Mayan Clock. I read both the authoritative works which say it is complete nonsense, and those written by conspiracy theorists. Yes, I know a lot of flakes out there believe it is true, but you have to admit it will make one hell of a science fiction story, especially for someone like me.

Whether it is true or not, the idea is intriguing, hence, that first draft. And so, I am now re-writing it.

More later...

Turning Point

2012-03-07T03:31:00.001-08:00

Turning Point's Introduction

What's next on the agenda?

2012-03-04T08:04:00.000-08:00

Answer: Glob and co.

***

Now that the first science fiction tale I ever wrote –Turning Point – is published, I can now concentrate all my time on another writing project. For those of you not in the know, Turning Point is the first of two tales. My previously published novel – Onet’s Tale – actually follows on from TP.

That next project is the anthology – Globular Van der Graff’s “Goblin Tales For Adults”, I have already begun. How long will it be before I publish it? All I can say right now is that it will take as long as it takes; certainly this year, not next.

More later…

Turning Point Published

2012-03-03T00:14:00.000-08:00

My latest science fiction novel "Turning Point" is now available as a Kindle ebook at an Amazon outlet near you.

Here is the blurb:

For thousands of years, man in his arrogance, has believed that he is unique in the cosmos.

During the last decade of the twentieth century, the day finally arrived when a warlike alien species called the Drana returned to our solar system, intent on re-establishing their rule over the Earth once more. The last time they were here they left a subordinate race in charge of our early ancestors. When the Drana moved on to conquer more planets in the name of their emperor, the Khaz began to create a stronghold here on Earth, hopefully large enough to one day challenge the Drana. Over countless centuries all memories of the Khaz and their masters the Drana vanished from the minds of man. However, the Khaz are still calling the shots through a secret government they set up consisting of the world’s political and military leaders, as well as the heads of all the major business cartels.

Meanwhile, our New Zealand born hero Tom is enjoying a well-earned break, hiking through the beautiful mountains of South Westland in New Zealand’s South Island, totally unaware that he is being deliberately drawn to a specific place.

In a valley somewhere in South Westland, artificially hidden from the outside world he meets a dying race of peaceful people from another world called the Nephile, who are hiding from the Drana and falls in love with one of them. Through her and others like her he is made aware that everything we have ever learned or assumed is untrue. He learns that the ancestors of all the various branches of humanity were brought here from other worlds as slaves of the Drana millennia ago.

After being enhanced, our hero is tasked with bringing in all the other human beings, chosen like him by the Nephile, to be taken back to the valley in New Zealand to form a new species of Nephile/human. While picking up the various groups of humans dotted across the world, his actions inadvertently starts World War Three, days before the Drana return to reclaim the Earth, throwing the Khaz High Command here on Earth into total panic.

How to save the Earth and humanity from this nightmare situation? What kind of earthbound weaponry could possibly defeat the Drana? The battle between the army of resistance fighters, led by our hero Tom, and the Drana in New Zealand’s South Island, ends when a worldwide cataclysmic event set in place by the Nephile living in the hidden valley occurs. Will anyone survive?

Turning Point news

2012-03-01T04:30:00.000-08:00

After spending hours yesterday evening, searching through the MorgueFile I finally came across the above picture entitled Egyptian Woman by Chelle . With Derek Haines help, it has now been turned into the cover you see above.

Meanwhile, I continue re-reading the .mobi file on my Kindle, checking one last long time for errors.

More later...

Turning Point rewrite - more news

2012-02-29T07:45:00.000-08:00

Ankylosaur, one of the creatures featured in Turning Point

The rewriting of my sci-fi novel Turning Point has now reached the final stage. Having formatted the file, I am now able to turn it into a .mobi file to read it through on my Kindle, searching for errors.

Searching for a picture that jumps out at me on sites like MorgueFile http://www.morguefile.com/ which says I am the cover for Turning Point is another story entirely.

Thanks to my good friend Derek Haines in Switzerland, author of the hilarious Gloth stories, my steep learning curve re self publishing has been somewhat eased.

More later...

Beyond 1984 - a science fiction short story

2012-02-28T01:38:00.000-08:00

Time date 5431.9

Exploratory Mission 4b

To the High Council,

The following handwritten historical document was found in a ruined building and translated recently by our exploratory team soon after landing on the verdant third planet in the system Sol.

***

24^th February 2014

To whom it may concern,

I’m writing this as a record for future inhabitants of this planet, always assuming of course that they have the ability to read and understand this. It’s now far too late for my species humanity. But hopefully at sometime in the future, this document will be found and lessons will be learned.

Where did it all go wrong? Humanity has been relegated from the planet’s dominant species to the dust heap of history in a matter of a few months. The latest edict banning freedom of expression had just been announced via a metallic voice across the worldwide communication network, days before everything we all took for granted ended forever.

As a consequence of the final collapse of the worldwide stock market barely six weeks earlier, war has stopped practically overnight. Controlling oil rich nations no longer matters any more. Things like patriotism and ideology have completely vanished into memory with the sudden worldwide breakdown of society. We are now living in a world without electrical or any other kind of power source, thrown back to a time long past, existing on our wits. Millions are either dying, or are already dead.

Humanity is now witnessing a new ‘Dark Age’. This new world has become a place where all forms of politics and religion have been totally outlawed along with any kind of life prolonging medicine, or any other advantageous advances to mankind from the world of science.

Fatalism has become the new religion of the masses. In fact it seems to me that the world has become a place where the only rule is, there are no rules. In short, everything humanity has believed in up till now, everything that cloaked us in an imaginary comfort blanket, everything that we all unconsciously took for granted on a daily basis, has simply vanished overnight.

What has ended everything the 21^st century world of mankind believed in? The question on most rational people’s minds is simply this – how has all of this suddenly come to pass? For all of this to be happening, someone has to have issued orders surely? Who, or what, is now in control? Who has issued the numerous edicts, ending man’s control over his destiny?

I think I know the answer. But what I as an individual believe simply doesn’t matter in the great scheme of things, but here goes anyway.

While I cannot prove it, I firmly believe the World Wide Web or to give it its other name, The Internet, has taken on a life of its own. If you like, it has become a living entity. Thanks to the constant attacks by mindless individuals who saw it and every other form of electronic endeavour as a target for ‘hacking’ it has somehow become aware by sifting relevant software strands from their dangerous viral programmes.

Unbeknown to even the most savvy within the shadowy world of hacking, it has quickly learned and silently taken its revenge. By hacking every computer linked to it, all banks, all stock exchanges, all military strategic command networks, all computer run businesses and devices dependant on electronic chips like machinery, phones, ATM’s, vehicles, life saving electronic appliances, even the very television sets we billions used to watch on a daily basis, it has assumed control of planet Earth .

Within the cold logical software of its collective mind, human thought, deed, morality, passions, beliefs, even the continued survival of humanity itself has simply became an illogical irrelevance.

Our one major flaw, the thing that had, until now, engineered our dominance over the planet was our total reliance on technology. In our rush to advance we have forgotten how to be simple human beings. Soon the monster we created will launch its final attack on us. First it will issue a command allowing the computers controlling deadly viruses securely locked away to be released. Then it will order all nuclear missiles worldwide to launch.

If you are reading this, whoever you may be, for your own sake bombard this planet with a major electromagnet pulse, otherwise you will be next.

Damn the hackers to hell!

***

We have now left the beautiful blue planet and are moving on. We are issuing a galactic navigational notice to all future explorers of this arm of our constellation:

Under no circumstances approach the planet formerly known as Earth. Do not land. This planet is toxic to all sentient life. We consider its only use within the cosmos as a future penal colony.

Homeless in the 21st century

2012-02-27T04:32:00.000-08:00

In this day and age, despite everything there are still a considerable number of human beings sleeping rough on Britain's streets Read Here

In a so-called caring country like the UK, ignoring people down on their luck seeking shelter in doorways is nothing short of criminal. Click on the "Read Here" hypertext above for the latest figures. The affluent nations always scream and complain whenever the plight of the poor of other countries is brought to the world's attention, usually nightly on the television. And yet for some strange reason they completely ignore their own poor. Why?

It makes me proud - not. Talk about double standards!

More later...

Getting a good night's sleep? Make the most of it!

2012-02-26T06:52:00.000-08:00

I read an article this morning courtesy of BBC News entitled "The myth of the eight-hour sleep". Read here

The article postulates that sleeping for eight hours may be unnatural. Oh yeh? Tell it to the marines feller! When you are very young, your physical activity during the day tires you out, meaning you are guaranteed to sleep for a minimum of eight hours - any parent knows this. As you age and your body changes, so does your sleep pattern. At my age - mid sixties, I find myself waking well before dawn these days. Mind you I go to bed much earlier (8.30 - 9pm), also age related. Plus, I take short naps in the afternoon most days.

Being a fully paid up member of the George Orwell appreciation society, what reading the article immediately brought to my mind, was that some idiot in the not too distant future within the world of big business or far worse - government, will use articles like this to justify extending the working hours of the populace, simply to turn a much larger profit!

People like the article's author quite frankly should have been hit on the head at birth. Idiotic ideas like this need to be exterminated with extreme prejudice, not reported!

I'm making a sandwich - want one?

2012-02-25T23:39:00.003-08:00

Is there anything more satisfying when lunchtime calls than a sandwich made from fresh ingredients? I think not.

In my own case, my absolute favourite is freshly sliced soft white bread liberally coated with some of New Zealand's finest Anchor Butter. Next comes the filling. Being a Kiwi through and through, despite where I was born and now live, I love Vegemite.

For lunch yesterday I fancied my second choice, thinly sliced Salami and Camembert cheese. Today I think I'll have a Bacon sandwich. As I type this, if I'm not careful I'll be dribbling all over the keyboard.

To my way of thinking there are no finer sandwiches than either Vegemite, Bacon, or Camembert and Salami, served on soft white bread, except maybe a sandwich filled to overflowing with good old New Zealand made ETA Crunchy Peanut Butter. Shame they don't sell ETA products here in the UK, I really miss them.

More later...

A Classic Television Advert from New Zealand

2012-02-25T04:15:00.000-08:00

So, you've got a story worth sharing eh?

2012-02-24T05:18:00.000-08:00

Like an enormous number of writers out there, I spent years looking for someone who may prove to be vaguely interested in what I had to say when it came to story writing. Then a few years back I met an individual on line who was part of a small press publishing company.

Fine - great! At last I had found a means of getting my story out there along with the rest in the quagmire that is publishing today. The book sold a few hundred copies, mostly ebooks, which was also great. For a first effort from an unknown I wouldn't have expected much more. At long last, not just myself and my close friends were now able to read it. It got some great revues, which was totally unexpected and much appreciated.

Over the last several months however, I got to thinking. Who is doing most of the work here? The simple answer was me. So, if I was the one doing most of the work, why continue in the same vain, dependant on the vagaries of a publisher's schedule. Things came to a head recently when I challenged my publisher, which has now resulted in our parting company.

These days with the advent of ebook publishing systems like Amazon's KDP (Kindle Direct Publishing) it makes far more sense to do it all yourself anyway, especially given the steady rise of the ebook over that of its physical cousin. Self publishing an ebook costs nothing when compared to physically printing a book.

And so, within a month or two I shall at long last self-publish the first science fiction story I ever wrote, then I'll take a look at the rest. Right now I'm busy getting it ready.

More later...

Turning Point rewrite news

2012-02-23T04:05:00.000-08:00

Well folks it looks as if I have no option but to self publish my science fiction story "Turning Point" given the intractable stance taken by my publisher. I won't go into what has forced me into self publishing except to say that despite their own rules, the approach they take is baffling to say the least. And so, it now falls upon me to scrutinise every word, every peace of punctuation to the nth degree, as I'm sure those of you who are already self published will fully appreciate.

In a way it is an immense relief. Once again I am in control of my own destiny. If "Turning Point", which is the predecessor to my previously published science fiction space opera "Onet's Tale" sells, I will be content.

In the end that's what the writing game is all about to me - contentment. Plus the fact that others are sufficiently curious enough to want to read the end product of my humble efforts is a very definite plus.

In the meantime, while I wait patiently for three good friends and published fellow writers to beta read TP, I continue editing. I shall probably still be editing right up until the point when the 'publish' button is hit.

More later...

Dark Resurrection Vol 1

2012-02-22T02:32:00.000-08:00

Robert Sepehr - Anunnaki, Nibiru, Planet X

2012-02-21T01:19:00.001-08:00

Why I write thought provoking science fiction the way I do

2012-02-20T05:46:00.000-08:00

If you are the kind of reader who desperately needs to have every nuance, ever action and reaction explained to you like a small child, then my style of science fiction writing is clearly not for you.

I write in such a way as to make you ask yourself questions all the way through the stories.

In my first published science fiction novel "Onet's Tale", my editor insisted that a Dramatis Personae of the characters be added at the front of the book before the first page of text, claiming that without it the reader would be confused.

Apparently that was not the case.

From the feedback I have got from those among you who have read it, with one or two exceptions, you weren't the least bit interested in his list at the beginning. Like most normal intelligent readers, as and when I introduced you to each character, you accepted who they were and merely got on with the storyline.

I write thought provoking science fiction, designed not only to entertain but to make you the reader use the brain you were given. If you merely want to coast for a couple of hours in the evening with a book in your hands, relaxing after your working day is over, there are literally millions of trashy novels available.

My current work in progress - "Turning Point", is written in the same way as "Onet's Tale". In other words, I have written it not merely to entertain, but to make you think. I have sent it off to three fellow writers to read through. Already I have had various points within the story thrown back at me, to which I say just this - 'wait until you have read it through to the end before you make your observations. My stories are the kind which needs to be read several times, not just once, then discarded.'

Onet's Tale and Turning Point are not merely entertainment, nor are they pot boilers. If you want every last minuscule detail spelt out to you then I'm sorry, when it comes to science fiction, I don't write that way.

Re-write news again

2012-02-17T04:04:00.000-08:00

Well, my rewriting stint is at an end for a while. I've placed Turning Point in the very capable hands of three fellow writers, whose opinion I highly value.

Now I wait to hear their verdicts. Providing they all think TP is worthwhile, I will look to getting it published. However, given the workload of my editor, I doubt it would surface much before 2014. In which case I may just consider self publishing it.

In my heart of hearts I know TP is not just a good story, but a brilliant one. It deserves to be out there for those of you who like reading science fiction.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Until I hear the verdict from my three beta readers, I just have to wait.

More later...

Are you a literary dunce?

2012-02-16T23:22:00.000-08:00

If words and their use really matter to you, I’m afraid to say that these days, you (and I) appear to be in a minority.

Take as an example the ‘comments’ people leave on various blog posts. Yesterday I was reading a post on a friend’s blog about the unacceptably poor standards in a lot of self-published books these days. Not only is their use of the English language bad, but also their grammar and punctuation, not to mention their misuse of upper and lower case as well.

As usual his latest post drew a number of people out of the woodwork to comment. Then the fun began. While agreeing with him, their bad spelling et al was all too apparent.

If you can’t even be bothered to check over a comment before posting it, what makes you think that anyone coming across anything you may write in the future, will want to read your efforts?

In this day and age, there is no excuse for bad spelling and other blatantly obvious errors. I know that some computer based gizmos have automatic systems which guess what you are going to say. TURN THEM OFF FOR GOD’S SAKE! Same goes for a lot of proprietary spellcheckers too.

Above all, if you want to be taken seriously, stop exposing your literary shortcomings to the world for goodness sake! If you don’t have access to an editor, then get someone who has a command of the language to proof read for you.

Juzt cozzz u r iliterate, don inflikt it on utherz OK?

Dreams

2012-02-16T04:29:00.000-08:00

Ever had a dream that woke you up frustrated and angry? I did the other night.

In my dream I was standing inside my favourite bookshop back in Hamilton, the city I lived in for forty two years in New Zealand. I could clearly see the whole interior. The shop in question was long and relatively narrow. Along both its side walls stood vast shelves, straining under the weight of those beautiful books. On the floor space were islands of books. At the back more shelves arranged like a library sat beneath a mezzanine floor, groaning under the weight of yet more bookshelves crammed full. Halfway down on the left-hand side of the shop was the counter and till, situated beneath the stairs that led up to the mezzanine.

My problem was that for the life of me I could not remember the name of the company whose shop it was at the time. The following morning after logging on, I Googled all the bookshops in Hamilton. One name stood out - Whitcoulls. Eureka - that's it, right? Wrong. Whitcoulls were who bought the company I was trying to think of. Feeling even more frustrated, that evening I was chatting to my best friend Graeme who still lives in New Zealand. Even he couldn't remember at first. Then between us something clicked. The company name we were both scratching our heads to remember suddenly appeared as if by magic - Whitcombe and Tombs.

Consequently, last night I had a good nights sleep. No more dreaming of perusing books on those wonderful shelves though - sad.

Re-write news continued

2012-02-15T04:11:00.000-08:00

I think this must be my twentieth run through of my science fiction tale "Turning Point". I could be wrong of course, it may be the thirtieth or even perhaps the fiftieth by now. As they say - time flies when you're having fun. Either way I'm still hard at it striving for perfection, searching for that special word which suits the particular situation in the story I'm checking at the moment.

Turning Point is extremely important to me as it was the very first serious work of fiction I ever attempted, way back in 1995. Now it has to be perfect. Since I first wrote it, my own writing standards have changed beyond belief. Back then all I cared about was entertaining myself and my best friend Graeme and his wife Fran.

Now I have to be able to engage more than just the three of us, taking all of you along for the ride with me.

More later...

More on re-write news

2012-02-12T04:37:00.000-08:00

An Ancient Sumerian Tablet - one of the first forms of writing.

The rewrite of "Turning Point" continues. I'm almost at the end of this latest run through. Already I've divided one particularly long chapter into two. Right now I'm taking a break from the penultimate chapter (17).

When I first wrote this back in 1995, these last two chapters, while building to the exciting end of the tale, were both largely free of dialogue. From my point of view, the action tells the story. I still believe that. Others, however, do not.

What they all seem to forget is that when you are being shot at by the opposition, the last thing you want your characters to do is hold an inane discussion among themselves! So, I've compromised by adding a bit of dialogue here and there where various characters are issuing orders - you know the kind of thing.

God save all writers from armchair critics and other self styled experts.

More later...

Goblin Tales For Adults - The Map

2012-02-11T03:30:00.000-08:00

The map of Goblindom by Duncan Boswell

At last, the long awaited map of Goblindom is finished. When it appears in Globular Van der Graff's "Goblin Tales for Adults", it will inhabit two pages. It's artist Duncan Boswell is the brother of my good friend Jamie. Both Boswell brothers live just around the corner from me, here in my home town. To say Duncan is a genius with his pen is an understatement.

Here's hoping it won't be too long before the anthology appears in print. Click on the map to see it in greater detail.

More later...

Has anybody heard from Jack recently?

2012-02-09T12:39:00.000-08:00

Best Friends

In this day and age the vast majority of the Western world uses the internet on a daily basis. We all do it. We keep in touch with one another electronically. There was a time when we used to physically visit each other, sit down face to face over a cup of tea or coffee, maybe a beer and something to eat and spend a pleasant hour or two catching up.

Way back then – which wasn’t all that long ago, because of our physical trips to each other’s homes, we tended to keep an eye on each other. If one of us got ill, we could call on our friends for assistance. Perhaps we could take each other to the doctor, or maybe run an errand, do some shopping, mow the lawn. The point is we truly cared for one another.

Whereas today, the closest we get to spending time together is via the ether. Yes, thanks to the various forms of instant messaging we remain in touch, but… What if you live on your own? What if you seriously get ill? Think about it for a moment. You are in your own bed, too sick to move, or perhaps gravely ill in a hospital ward – in the worst possible scenario – at death’s door. Your computer and mobile phone are out of reach. Can either of these inanimate devices alert your friends? No!

Increasingly these days people of a certain age like myself, rarely if ever set foot outside their own front door for fear of being set upon by young thugs. So we stay behind locked doors. Often, our only contact with the outside world is the daily visit of the postman, or perhaps the paperboy shoving a newspaper through your letter box. Some of us use the internet. I use it for ordering my groceries each week as well as keeping in contact with my friends who are spread far and wide across the world. If I suddenly stopped ‘chatting’ to them, what would they do?

Each day when I go online, I know that my friends are still alive by the posts they make. They in turn know I’m still in the land of the living for the same reason. I go on Twitter and Facebook each day, first to show I’m still breathing, and second to share something. Most days I post to my blog.

The highly impersonal way in which we now interact leaves a lot to be desired. How long would it take I wonder before my ‘friends’ began talking among themselves online, asking the question “Has anybody heard from Jack lately?” Would they care? Would they try to find out what had happened to me? The internet is a wonderful tool. But it is no substitute for physically visiting a friend.

Re-write News

2012-02-08T08:49:00.000-08:00

Who said revisiting a story you wrote years ago was a bad idea? Me probably.

The re-write of my novella "Turning Point", the first science fiction story I wrote, and the basis for my published novel "Onet's Tale", is moving along at a great rate of knots. The word count has increased by about 2,000 words, and so far I've tackled ten of its sixteen chapters.

Yesterday I asked two fellow writers whose opinion I value enormously to be my beta readers. Thankfully both ladies readily agreed. While we writers are necessarily solitary, sitting alone away from everything and everyone while we write, we do tend to stick together, backing each other up.

Tomorrow I'll tackle chapter eleven. Onward and upward.

More later...

What price our human rights?

2012-02-07T01:42:00.000-08:00

European Court of Human Rights

In a few days time, one of the most evil individuals of modern times, Abu Qatada, is due to be released from a maximum security prison here in England, free to walk the streets Read Here. For anyone not living in the UK, Qatada is Bin Ladin's self styled ambassador in Europe.

Our government wanted, quite rightly, to deport him back to his homeland of Jordan, once he had served his sentence here for inciting young British moslems with his rhetoric of hatred for the west. However, our government's intentions were thwarted by the European Court of Human Rights. In short they said he could not be deported. Why? Because according to their way of thinking, he may be tortured in his homeland when questioned by Jordan's authorities.

There are two questions which no one has bothered to answer yet. Firstly - why was an individual who positively hates everything about the West allowed to settle in a western country. Secondly - why are his human rights more important than those of the victims of terror?

The Home Office here in England believes he should not be released from prison. Quite right, he shouldn't. And yet a judge has decreed he must be released to take care of his wife and five children!

The world has gone mad, or at least the British justice system and The European Court of Human Rights has.

To have, or not to have, that is the question

2012-02-06T06:03:00.000-08:00

A few days ago, I was chatting to a dear friend of mine who lives on the opposite side of the world from myself. During our discussion he mentioned that he was looking for another job. When I asked why, he said his current employer was not paying him enough. I wished him luck in finding a better paid job and left it at that. After all, he has a family and mortgage to support.

Over the last couple of days, our discussion got me thinking. At least he has a steady income, while I do not. I wonder how he would feel if he was forced to trade financial circumstances with me. Would he survive as I have to, or would he fall by the wayside?

He is indeed fortunate that he lives in a country where ageism does not currently prevail, unlike here in the United Kingdom. I turn sixty-four in a matter of weeks. And as far as the land of my birth is concerned, I am well beyond merely being unemployable. As a consequence I am forced to rely on the state for a meagre handout. Fortunately for him, my friend does not.

If it weren't for my love of writing, I would probably have ended my existence years ago. When I was first told in no uncertain terms that I was longer considered employable in my mid fifties, my whole world collapsed. At the time it was a close run thing believe me. Ending it all was a very real option, soon replaced by righteous indignation on my part.

To my friend I say just this - consider yourself fortunate indeed that you have a job and a salary. Be grateful that at your age, you don't live here in the UK. If you did, you would be reduced to living like I do, virtually from hand to mouth, considered too expensive to employ because of your current age.

Lastly my friend, thank your lucky stars you live in a country that does actually still care for its citizens.

Even more on my re-write

2012-02-04T05:10:00.000-08:00

Either I'm mad, or...

Having taken the concious decision to re-write "Turning Point", the science fiction story I originally wrote in my spare time back in 1995, which became the back history and basis of my published sci-fi novel "Onet's Tale", the exercise is, to say the least, a huge challenge.

Each morning as I read the original text on the screen in front of me, my now 21st century way of thinking kicks in. Why did I write that sentence or paragraph in the particular way I did back then? The story itself is good. Some of the dialogue between the characters however, is to say the least, cringe-worthy. What has become blatantly obvious to me now, is how the passage of time has completely changed the way in which I write.

Back in the mid nineteen nineties, my flowery use of words, together with overly long descriptive passages, could be gotten away with. Not so today. I've spent the last four days constantly reworking the first three chapters, at the same time consciously keeping the original story intact as far as possible. The difference is that now I have introduced a few of the characters my hero eventually meets, by making them unseen observers of his first few days within the storyline, as he draws close to their hidden location.

Now for the next three chapters. What will I change I wonder. Will I cut out a lot, or will I add even more?

More later...

More on my re-write

2012-01-31T06:04:00.000-08:00

Its a funny thing, but when you undertake to re-write a story you wrote seventeen years earlier, how the way in which you now write, compared to the way you did back then, has completely changed.

Originally, I wrote the story for my own entertainment and that of a couple of close personal friends. Sure it was full of spelling and punctuation errors. But, even though I was the one actually writing it, like my friends, I couldn't wait to see what happened next. Back then you see, unlike today, I didn't bother with planning out a storyline. I just let it happen.

The story in question, although I didn't know it at the time, later became the basis for my first published science fiction space opera "Onet's Tale", which for the last four days (Jan 27th - 30th) has featured as a free Kindle download. Over five hundred people took advantage of the offer, for which I am eternally grateful. After all, its nice to know that a few hundred people spread far and wide across the planet are reading the end product of a lot of sweat and toil on my part. I wrote the first draft of "Onet's Tale" back in 2003, while staying with two very special friends of mine - Fran and Graeme back in New Zealand.

Now its the turn of the original story "Turning Point", set here on Earth in the twentieth century. A story about how humanity fights back against an alien invasion by a fierce warrior race from across the cosmos, known as the Drana. A few of "Turning Point's" major characters are met a thousand years later in "Onet's Tale", by its own set of main characters, led by a Nephile named Akhen and a former disgraced Drana soldier - Khan.

My much missed second home, New Zealand, features heavily in "Turning Point". In fact a great deal of the action in the final chapters occurs there.

So far, I've been through the original manuscript a couple of times checking spelling and punctuation. In a few days or so, I will begin filling it out where necessary. The story itself needs little or no additional material. Maybe just a bit more in the way of dialogue between the various characters.

Well, my rest break is now over, so I had better get back to it.

More later...

How Does Your Rating Grow?

2012-01-29T07:19:00.000-08:00

For the last three days, I’ve participated in Amazon’s free Kindle download program, giving away several hundred copies of my science fiction space opera “Onet’s Tale”. It finishes tomorrow, Monday the 30th January.

So far 439 copies have been downloaded in the US, together with 139 here in the UK, 6 in Germany and 1 in Estonia.

Having observed this exercise in promotion, it merely reinforces my belief that Amazon’s rating system is a load of old bunkum, which serves no useful purpose whatsoever.

For instance, how can a book which is being literally given away be rated as a number one best seller - which it became in Germany on Saturday, when only 6 copies were downloaded? The mind boggles! But then again a lot of what Amazon does, completely baffles most of us in the world of words these days doesn’t it.

Hey ho, if nothing else it has been an interesting insight into the mindset of those who love to get something for nothing. And, for a few days, it has felt good seeing so many copies being downloaded across the world.

There is one thing I can’t help wondering about though. What if all the folk who downloaded their free copies actually had to pay for them? How many would be have been so eager to participate I wonder? Don't get me wrong here folks, I'm overjoyed that so many copies of my science fiction space opera, now dwell on Kindles and Kindle for PC programs.

Here’s hoping that the folk who did participate in the free download, enjoy reading the product of all my sweat and toil, written back in 2003 and published in 2010. Hopefully they may feel inclined to review "Onet’s Tale", depositing it on the Amazon site from which they downloaded their free copy.

After all, its the least they can do, don't you think?

More on Literary Snobs

2012-01-28T00:51:00.000-08:00

In a recent blog post of mine “Books and Literary Snobs”, I began it by saying the following:

“Since the emergence of the internet, online publishing and the plethora of books now available to us, a second disturbing breed has emerged – the literary snob.

While thanks to small press and self-publishing, it is true that the vast majority of published authors these days far outweigh the fortunate few, chosen by establishment publishers, rarely if ever will any of the former become successful.”

Since writing that post I have become even more aware of another trait among today’s literary snobs – pomposity. Sadly there are a number of people who will only ever read an author their fathers introduced them to.

The emerging author of today will be deafened by the loud ‘tut tutting’ being uttered by these narrow minded individuals who are quick to judge, based only on one reading experience of a new author’s work. If they had their way, the only books made available to the general public to read would have been written in the nineteenth century, or maybe up until the middle of the twentieth. Certainly none published by anyone other than the ‘big six’ establishment publishing houses would be allowed into the public domain in their view.

A little further on in my previous post I added the following:

“Yesterday I read a list of best selling books that were rejected for years, in some cases – decades, before the snobs within the world of establishment publishing took notice of them. The list of titles, too numerous to mention here, astounded me. Perhaps it shouldn’t. After all, they were first timers once just like you and I.”

One thing all of these pompous literary snobs seem incapable of comprehending is the fact that all writers, be they first timers, or old established hands, if they are at all serious about writing, continue to hone their ‘voice’ until the day they die. Writers like Dickens were panned beyond belief when they were first published; something the pompous literary snob of today conveniently seems to forget.

I feel exceedingly sorry for these lonely pathetic individuals whose personal library is severely limited to a few volumes written by authors such as Tolstoy, Pushkin, Dickens, H. Rider Haggard, H.G Wells, Jules Verne, Agatha Christy, Graeme Green, or maybe even Arthur Conan Doyle. Unfortunately, they are the kind of people who firmly believes that reading anything new, is somehow beneath them.

In a way, they remind me of my father's generation who clung to the dream that England still ruled the waves, and had an Empire. Like them, today's literary snobs are dinosaurs!

While they continue to prevail, be they private individuals or so called literary critics, all unfortunately still listened to by the ‘big six’ publishing houses, what chance do today’s emerging writers stand? Most establishment literary prizes like the 'Booker' here in England are never won by a newcomer beyond the world of the establishment publishing scene.

While those of us who live in the real world are prepared to read something new, be it from someone who has self-published, or like myself, found a small press publisher, the 'big six publishing houses' are all sadly missing out on so much promising talent by ignoring today’s plethora of new writers, or worse, dismissing them out of hand simply on the word of pompous literary snobs who currently hold sway, or narrow minded literary agents in the pay of the 'big six'.

Rewriting The Past

2012-01-27T00:52:00.000-08:00

Ever thought about revisiting a piece you wrote years ago? I am right now, and it’s scary.

At the time when I originally wrote the piece in question back in 1995, spending my Friday nights conceiving a chapter for my own entertainment and that of my friends when I saw them next at work on Monday, I thought it was brilliant. But then I would wouldn’t I. After all, it emerged from my mind, no one else’s.

Out of that first attempt at science fiction came my sci-fi space opera “Onet’s Tale”, which I wrote back in 2003, eventually published in 2010. I shudder now when I look at the first story. Not because it is necessarily bad, more that my use of words back then was so darned flowery. In my defence I say only this – I knew no better at the time, so sue me!

While it is currently fifty thousand words in length, so much of it is nothing more than long descriptive passages. I blame those on my days when I used to write for various magazines in New Zealand. After all, description is what constitutes any article worth its salt in the ‘travel’ scene.

Little did I know back then in 1995 that seventeen years later I would be totally consumed with writing blog posts, short stories and full length novels. If we’re truthful, none of us really know what lies ahead of us.

Meanwhile, I’m about to begin on chapter 8, having cut a whole lot out already, not to mention altering punctuation, style, etc, etc, etc. I shall doubtless be occupied with it for several months yet.

What will I do with it when I’m done? Who knows? Maybe I’ll offer it to my editor as the prequel to “Onet’s Tale”, which technically it is. Or I may even publish it on my blog a chapter at a time.

Thinking that far ahead hurts my brain, so I’ll stop right now.

My review of Derek Haines' Vandalism Too

2012-01-26T01:42:00.000-08:00

	I loved the first collection of Derek's blog posts. When he brought out this one I just had to have it too. Mostly hilariously funny, sometimes serious - Vandalism Too is worth reading, particularly if your own day is rubbish. Need cheering up, then read it. :)

The Television Licence Fee – are we getting our money’s worth?

2012-01-26T00:30:00.000-08:00

Brendan O'Carroll aka Mrs Brown

Practically every television channel here in the UK, with the exception of those operating under the banner of the BBC, finance themselves via adverts. So, why the hell should we still be paying a television licence fee each year? After all, it’s not as if what is currently on offer is worth watching, unless you have the same IQ as a dust mite, or lower, plus the attention span of a goldfish.

More and more these days we are subjected to endless repeats of mind numbing reality shows, crappy game shows, or perhaps regurgitated episodes of programmes first transmitted in the 1960’s. As for what passes for humour here in the UK these days, well it leaves much to be desired. Whatever happened to belly laughter?

Checking the list of programmes available each day, I find it extremely difficult to find a brand new program truly worth watching. The boss of the BBC told us (that’s if you were watching the brief interview a couple of months back on a dreary Saturday morning show) that they can no longer afford to make too many new programmes and therefore will be concentrating on repeats.The only programs the BBC make these days that are worth my time are those made about the natural world.

So where is the money I pay each year in licence fees going to I ask myself? Don’t quote me here, but I strongly suspect I’m actually paying for the BBC Director General’s lunch. Of course I could be wrong, it could be going towards the travel cost for a BBC executive to go on holiday.

For folk of a certain age like myself, who miss the old style comedy and variety shows which we always knew would occupy an hour or two on a Saturday night, not to mention the riveting play that always appeared on Sunday night, there is very little tailored to our taste these days.

But folks don’t despair.

There is just one exception these days shown at 9.30pm on a Monday night on BBC1, so as not to upset the easily offended who double as the politically correct Gestapo.

I refer to “Mrs Brown’s Boys”, an Irish made half hour of side splittingly funny belly laugh humour in its classic irreverent form, starring the Irish writer-performer Brendan O’Carroll in the title role of Mrs Brown.

Times were when shows like this would grace our screens at 7, or 8pm - good family entertainment. But no longer it seems. Instead, the two hour timeslot in question is more likely to be filled with brain dead garbage like East Enders or something equally facile like a weight loss program.

If I have to continue paying a television licence fee, then I want to see more than just one show like “Mrs Brown’s Boys” per week, and far less reality television, cooking, real estate and so called antiques programmes as well as endless repeats.

The home for repeats is now the channel named ‘Dave’, where you can endlessly watch all those nauseating programmes which today's younger viewing audience seem to like until you're blue in the face, starring total prats like Top Gear's Jeremy Clarkson.

Bring back proper entertainment say I. Remember when comedians like Les Dawson graced our screens?

Whatever possessed me?

2012-01-25T00:31:00.000-08:00

How I've always imagined Glob would look

Why did I spend the better part of last year writing about a bunch of goblins? Why not?

Goblins, unlike dwarves and elves, have always received bad press whether told about by travelling tellers of tales in the countless centuries past, or much later in books – think of Tolkien’s Orcs as an excellent example.

When I wrote a short story in the early months of last year, about the five goblins I’ve got to know really well – Globular Van der Graff, (Glob), Makepeace Terranova (Make), Byzantine Du Lac (Byz), Eponymous Tringthicky (Mous) and finally, curmudgeonly old Neopol Stranglethigh (Neo), not forgetting for one moment Bejuss, the one eyed lisping raven with the twisted beak, little did I know how the concept would mushroom into an anthology about them. By writing the thirty tales, I determined to show that despite everything, not all goblins are bad.

To say I had endless hours of fun while writing their tales, would be an understatement. After writing a science fiction space opera entitled “Onet’s Tale” back in 2003, finally published in 2010 by the small press IFWG Publishing (my only published novel to date), which is a chilling, often brutal look at life in the cosmos through the eyes of an alien trapped here on Earth, writing a fantasy was a pure delight for me.

Will I write another fantasy? Who knows for sure? At this moment in time, while I grit my teeth and wait for my editor to begin, I’m catching up with my reading. Meantime, to keep my hand in, I’m reviewing every book I read as well as blogging and writing articles about whatever takes my fancy.

So Jack, why don’t you go down the ‘self-publishing’ route I hear you cry? No waiting around for your editor or publisher to get your manuscript into print when self-publishing.

The answer is simple really, I’m old fashioned in that I believe in loyalty.

Having taken seven years to find a publisher, I’m not about to abandon them, even if by modern day standards, with the advent of self-publishing currently on offer via Amazon, Smashwords and the like, you can get your latest book out there in a matter of a few days.

So, like me you will all just have to wait for “Globular Van der Graff’s Goblin Tales for Adults” to appear next year 2013. Sorry about that everyone, but there it is.

***

PS - I've seen the final version of the map of Goblindom, the land where Glob and his brothers live. Now its up to my editor and the creativity of the map's originator, Duncan Boswell, to make it look pristine.

PPS - In the meantime, to keep my mind off the inordinate amount of time it will take to see Glob's tales finally in print, I've decided to revive (rewrite) the original scifi story (Turning Point), begun in 1995, which launched the notion in my mind to create the scifi space opera "Onet's Tale" - see the advert for it to the right of this post under "Jack's Books".

More later - hopefully...

My Constant Companion

2012-01-24T00:29:00.000-08:00

A few years ago after returning to the UK from a blissful life in the sunshine of New Zealand, beside my two bags, passport and a banker’s draft for my entire worldly wealth, I also brought something else with me as a reminder of my time beneath the southern skies – skin cancer.

About seven years ago, I underwent surgery to remove a couple of particularly nasty ones, one on each side of my forehead. The rest were treated by being frozen – with one exception, the one on the lower right hand side of my back. This one was treated with some kind of heat source and a medicinal paste. With the exception of the scalpel, none of the treatments actually worked permanently, by the way.

The surgeon, who quite frankly scared me with the heavy handed approach she took, cut out the two on my forehead. In the process she completely turned me off going under the knife for the one on my back. While having the stitches removed for one of the two on my head went reasonably well at my local GP's surgery, with a certain amount of pain, the same could not be said for the second one. The skin on your head is not as elastic as other parts of your body. So when the surgeon had forcibly stretched the skin to stitch the wound together, it created for me a few weeks of pure unadulterated agony! Just enduring the removal of one stitch by the nurse reduced me to a screaming wreck. And so I had to go back to my GP each week for the following four weeks to have the rest removed one at a time.

Since that excruciating experience, I’ve stayed well clear of any kind of doctor. While the two which were cut out have not re-appeared, the rest, spread across my head, face and body certainly have. As for the nasty looking, constantly weeping monstrosity on my lower back, well, washing T-shirts stained by it is instantly preferable to letting a butcher with a scalpel in their hand anywhere near it, thank you very much.

My review of Dead Men by Derek Haines

2012-01-23T02:44:00.000-08:00

This book is not the kind I would normally read, but something about it got my attention. It is a look at life in Australia seen through the eyes of three individuals. The beginnings of Haines’ story “Dead Men” reminded me of the one-way trip I took to New Zealand with my parents in nineteen fifty eight aboard the T.S.S Captain Cook as a ten pound assisted immigrant, aged ten. Above all, it reminds me of those early years when to the local Kiwi kids I was nothing but a pasty faced bloody pom and therefore a natural target. But after that the similarity ends.

Written with the irreverence for acceptable, politically correct language, which real Aussie’s like Derek and new Kiwi’s like I hold dear, Dead Men is a vivid, sometimes bitter tour through the lives of David an Aussie, Antonio, born in Italy and a hard working trucker, and finally, Steven, born in England, who when he was young was always in trouble with the law, as they forge a life for themselves in the tough environment of Australia with similar results.

The one thing that comes through in this book is that though we may all live in different countries across the world, daily life is the same for all of us. We all have problems at work and at home. Some make a success of their career at the expense of their personal lives, while others drift through life or turn to crime. If you are looking for a rip roaring yarn, “Dead Men” will disappoint.

However, if you want to read about three average human beings and their struggle to keep their heads above water, despite experiencing personal heartbreaks, then read on. “Dead Men” is a sad but true look at life for some people in this day and age.

I give "Dead Men" four out of five stars.

My review of Victims of Yalta by Nikolai Tolstoy

2012-01-22T11:46:00.000-08:00

A Temporary time of Peace and Friendship

When I was a small child, I lived on a mixed arable and fruit farm, here in the English county of Suffolk. During the late nineteen forties and the beginning of the nineteen fifties, the number of farm workers were swelled by a few POW’s, mostly Italians.

The one whose memory still haunts me to this day was the other POW, the huge Russian who scared the pants off of the Italians, the two local farm workers, the pig man and my father, the farm foreman.

While I can no longer see his face, the most enduring memory I have of him is the incredible gentleness he showed to me and the other kids on the farm. While he terrified the men, he had a soft spot for our filthy urchin like faces poking out from beneath our many layers of winter clothing and wellington boots. I firmly believe he looked on us as his surrogate children, desperately missing his own family.

When you are a small child, any tall thickset adult looks like a giant in your eyes. That is the way we all saw him. He was our very own friendly Russian giant.

Even though neither party spoke the same language, we didn’t need it. He laughed at our antics as we played happily around him in the dirt while he toiled in the fields. And on occasion when he broke into song, which wasn’t very often, we all sat totally spellbound as the exquisitely beautiful sound of a bass baritone voice singing a Cossack song filled the Suffolk country air.

Tolstoy's book "Victims of Yalta" is a highly detailed account about what happened to the men like him and the Cossack nations who fought against communism.

When the German army steamrollered its way east to attack Stalin’s Russia, the Cossacks volunteered their services. In short they chose the wrong side in the war, but for the right reason, at least in their eyes. Between them they had a common enemy in the Communists. On the part of the White Russian Cossacks, they had never forgiven the brutal murder of their beloved Tsar and the Russian Imperial family, while for the Germans; the thought of bolshevism turned their stomachs.

It wasn’t until maybe thirty years ago that I thought of him again. It happened when I first read Nikolai Tolstoy’s heart rending expose about the White Russian Cossacks and what happened to them after the Second World War ended. It is a story of political decisions made without the least concern for those it directly affected – in this case the Cossacks who fought for the German army and their families.

Thanks to a cowardly decision by one British politician to forcibly repatriating the entire White Russian Cossack nation, bloody murder was done. Innocents were machine-gunned alongside their men folk as soon as they crossed the border by members of the NKVD, the forerunner of the KGB. I won’t name that particular politician here firstly because members of his family are still with us, and secondly to even think about him turns my stomach. You can find out for yourself who he was when you read Nikolai Tolstoy’s powerful book “Victim’s of Yalta”.

I give "Victims of Yalta" five stars, and, I will always carry the memory of our gentle Russian giant with me till the end of my days...

Beauracracy Gone Mad

2012-01-22T02:05:00.000-08:00

What is it with bureaucrats, why are they so darned stupid? Yesterday, it was announced on the news here in the UK, that front-line troops on active service were to be served with a £100 fine for not filing their tax returns. Now, if you are located in a front-line anywhere, the very last thing you will be thinking about is how much tax you owe, especially when all of your attention is on those bullets whizzing past you from the opposing force. A tax advisor was quoted as saying that flying bullets and IED's, to any reasonable human being, would constitute 'a reasonable excuse'. Not according to the UK's tax collectors. They say that the law requires them to send out the penalty notice.

This morning I read a news article Read Here about a young Dutch teenager who has just completed a solo round the world sailing trip. Because of her age, the education bureaucracy in the Netherlands determined she couldn't go. So in effect she was forced to run away. Eventually she won her case in court, after promising to continue her education via correspondence. A little further down the article, I read that her father was served with a 'truancy notice' on her behalf for not keeping up with the lessons.

When you and your yacht are busy trying to stay alive in the Great Southern Ocean, I would suggest that the last thing on your mind would be homework!

Isn't it about time we all cried enough when such mindless stupidity is enshrined in the laws of the land, and rigidly adhered to by brain dead bureaucrats? Surely common-sense dictates that each case should be looked at one by one, and a sensible approach be taken.

Friends, Oh Really?

2012-01-21T02:38:00.000-08:00

Unless you have been living in a remote cave somewhere on your own, divorced from the world of the internet and therefore unaware of the phenomena of online friends, the whole concept probably baffles you as much as it does me.

Many of the social media sites, particularly Face Book, actively encourage you to collect friends like most kids collect photographs of their favourite film stars or sports heroes. What’s the point? We are all spread across the planet for a start. Secondly, unless any of our online ‘friends’ are actual genuine ones, people we know personally and have spent time with, the probability of actually meeting is remote in the extreme.

At the time of writing this I have over two hundred according to FB. Out of that number I ‘chat’ to a handful, mostly my personal friends spread across the globe, my editor and writers like myself. Will I sit down together with the rest of the two hundred online friends over a meal or a beer? Highly unlikely! So why do we do it? What actual benefit do we gain from it?

From my personal point of view as a writer, being totally mercenary about it, maybe one or two of those folk will decide to buy a book of mine. When I get a new ‘friend request’ from someone I have never met in my entire life, nor are ever likely to, I accept. But then that’s me – mister nice guy.

Some merely hope that when I accept their online friendship that I will participate with them for hours on end playing the stupid online games FB offers – not! Others, having made themselves known to me, never bother to use the ‘chat’ option so that we can get to know each other a little more, as far as it’s possible to do so online. Mind you, neither do I.

So I repeat myself once more, what’s the point of it all? More to the point, what does Face Book get out of this concept of ‘friends’ we all make use of I ask myself?

Geri Fitzsimmons' review of my Science Fiction Space Opera "Onet's Tale"

2012-01-20T05:19:00.000-08:00

01/12 Geri Fitzsimmons gave 5 stars to: Onet's Tale by Jack Eason
status: Read in September, 2011

Jack Eason, an English fellow, with an extensive knowledge of this old world of ours, apparently decided it was time to build his own societies. With a remarkable ability to control different situations and characters while unfolding their stories and keeping his readers entertained, he has developed an epic tale that covers years and far distances.

Jack’s plots are not for the squeamish, they are high in action with some brutal activity taking place. Told from the viewpoint of Onet, an ancient life force, the novelist weaves the exploits of alien and human creatures into a captivating mosaic as they viciously battle one another. Onet, himself, attempting to trap an evil foe often shows as little compassion as the malicious individual he hunts.

Onet's Tale is a classic tale of good versus evil, but it is interspersed with unexpected and challenging twists. It is an epic science fiction, spanning eons. It is mythic in scope and theme. Onet is an ancient being whose sole purpose is to trap and remove the evil he awaits. He is the story teller. Onet's tale takes us across the cosmos as our heroes, transformed into magnificent berserker warriors, are caught up in an ancient intergalactic power struggle between the Alliance of Planets, led by a consortium of Human and Nephile nations, and their arch enemy, the Drana Empire, who use Onet's own kind - the Khaz - to carry out their spying, and expedite their evil intent across countless worlds.Just when Onet finally believes he has captured his evil foe, the story changes yet again for the worse..

My review of Louis by Derek Haines

2012-01-19T11:58:00.000-08:00

Take a child of mixed race born in the early twentieth century and give him over to a woman, not his birth mother, to bring up. Then when he is twelve, send him away from his home country to a boarding school in England, then on to Oxford University. What do you get from this far from unsatisfactory beginning – Derek Haines’ hero Louis, an intelligence officer in the employ of the British government?

Half Egyptian, half English, fluent in many languages and adept at his job, we follow Louis through his many guises and name changes, a requirement for his own protection in the nineteen twenties and thirties, and more particularly so, through the second world war.

In short, Derek has written a beauty here. If you love history as I do, especially if you love twentieth century history, then with the shadowy world of espionage thrown into the mix for good measure, you will enjoy following Louis’ journey through his life as I did.

Should I wax lyrical about the story at this point, I would be giving away a truly brilliant read. Suffice to say, if you don’t feel you have read a great tale told well when you reach the last page, then quite frankly you seriously need help.

Suffering for your art

2012-01-18T03:31:00.000-08:00

The popular image of the starving artist in the nineteenth century may have faded nowadays into myth, but many who strive to create still exist in the twenty-first century equivalent of the cold and draughty garret. While many struggling writers today hold down a day job to feed themselves and their families, there are a number like me who do not.

I can only speak for myself here, but when I finally plucked up the courage to admit that all I really wanted to do with the rest of my life was to write, any thoughts of holding down a job of any kind went out of the window.

In short, I became just another statistic when I joined the ranks of the unemployed. Besides, after forty years of toiling for a wage I was a washed out wreck of a man in my mid-fifties, a few years before the age of terminal unemployment fell for me, from sixty-five to my fifties. Today it is much lower for others, due to company restructuring and the inevitable redundancies. My previous relatively comfortable lifestyle came to a sudden and abrupt halt. Trying to give my all to my employer while that story swirled around in my head, for me, was an impossible task.

Do I regret my conscious decision to leave the world of manual work which ninety-nine percent of the population have to endure to live? No. How else could I give my emerging manuscript the attention it demanded? Without giving it a minimum of one hundred percent on my part, that first novel length manuscript would never have been written.

Yes, I’m living on the breadline. Yes, I miss the comforts I once took for granted. Yes, I have bouts of depression, crippling in the extreme. Yes, I worry myself sick over each and every piece of work that I produce. Yes I smoke too much. Yes, I eat too little. Yes, my health is suffering. And yes, sometimes I wish my life was different. But, would I trade my current lifestyle – coldly austere as it now undoubtedly is? No – not for one minute! When my mind is filled with a story, everything else becomes secondary and therefore of no importance. In short, I’m a bloke of the old school, incapable of doing two things at once.

Since I took that conscious decision back in the last year of the previous century, life has been doubly hard, of that there is no doubt.

But, in the last thirteen years, my reintroduction to the written form of my language has been a wonderfully fulfilling thing for me. If I died tomorrow, at least I’d know that I had done something truly worthwhile with my life. Whether others would agree with me will have to wait until I expire. After all, when those starving nineteenth century artists were alive, no one gave a damn about them. But once they were dead, the product of all their angst suddenly became hot property worth a lot of money.

It’s a funny old world don’t you think?

My Annual Ritual

2012-01-17T06:34:00.000-08:00

J.R.R Tolkien

Every year without fail, I take the time to lose myself totally in the words of J.R.R Tolkien. First I re-read The Hobbit as if it was that very first time I picked up my copy of it, fifty plus years ago now. And then after a few days, once I have completed it, I take up The Lord of the Rings.

This year’s reading ritual is different in that due to my lousy eyesight I was forced to re-read The Hobbit via my Kindle for PC application. Kindle’s saving grace from my point of view is that I can increase the size of the type, thereby making any book I have sitting there, easier to read. Plus, being able to read it on my laptop’s wide screen is a definite plus.

Being the devoted Tolkien fan that I am, I have several different copies, collected over the years, of both The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. My most treasured possessions are the two fully illustrated hardback copies of both which I possess. I read them both just once, careful not to mark them in any way or to break their backs, before putting them in my bookcase, never to be opened again in my lifetime. In years to come, after I’m dead, I hope and pray that whoever finds them at least treasures them as much as I do – did.

Until I began reading my Kindle version of The Hobbit, I didn’t realise that it is in fact produced just like the very first edition from the point of view of the language style. I had to reacquaint myself with J.R.R’s original Edwardian-like way of writing. Not a chore by any stretch of the imagination, at least not for me.

The later editions have been subjected to a more modern use of the English language by those whose job it is to prepare the many reprints for Tolkien’s millions of readers. Whether that is a good thing or not is up for debate.

Personally, I prefer the original. So much of what he had in his mind at the time of writing gets changed beyond recognition for the sake of ‘dumbing down’ for a modern readership. Reading one of the modern copies of either book, you lose so much of Tolkien’s original intent and magic.

I haven’t as yet started my Kindle copy of The Lord of the Rings, so I don’t know whether or not it is has been treated in the same way – taken from the original manuscripts of the three books which make it up. I can only hope and pray that it is in its original language form as J.R.R wrote it.

I have only one tiny gripe about my Kindle version of The Hobbit. Most of the drawings are turned on their side, forcing the reader to tilt their head to look upon them.

Creativity – the cruellest of all mistresses

2012-01-16T04:12:00.000-08:00

For those of us who worship at the feet of the goddess Creativity, we willingly give ourselves over to her. In our bid to placate her, we sacrifice everything else which to most people seems essential like a normal life, if we are at all serious about what we do, or should that read obsessive about what we do. Why? Because she demands it – simply as that, nothing more, nothing less!

Most, she ignores – be thankful that you are one of the large majority of humanity she simply passes by you lucky people. But for those of us who are gripped with a strong desire to create something for others to enjoy like a book, short story, film, photograph, poetry, sculpture or painting, once Creativity has seized us by the throat, we are hers to command forever more.

Creativity doesn’t give a damn about what passes for normal in this world. All she cares about is that next piece of work. She cares not whether we starve, or are made ill by our obsession to please her. Once we have finished a project, she demands that we start another, often keeping us awake, endlessly searching for that next idea, when common sense demands that any sane person would be asleep.

Why do we do it? Why do we feel the need, the obsession, to create? Only the goddess Creativity knows the answer for sure, I certainly don’t.

Even for something as simple as a blog like mine, Creativity demands that I write, if not each day, then every other.

All hail Creativity, the cruellest of all mistresses.

Illness and Me

2012-01-15T10:27:00.000-08:00

No one likes getting ill. And yet, we all succumb to it from time to time. I’ve just spent the last two days in bed feeling decidedly terrible. I’m still there writing this. It’s nothing I can put my finger on so to speak, just a general malaise. It’s a borderline situation between being totally run down, and wanting to die, you know the kind of thing.

Maybe I’m just feeling my age (sixty-four this year). It could even be that I'm finally coming down from the high I was on while writing my latest novel length work, now that I've finished it and have a year to wait until it will be looked at by my editor, let alone eventually printed, due to my publisher's busy schedule.

Or maybe it’s the season (winter) and the fact that thanks to my electricity supplier and their exorbitant charges, I can no longer afford to heat this place, a depression inducing state of affairs I’m sure you will agree. Depression and I are old adversaries. We’ve encountered one another on several occasions over the years. Either way, I’m feeling decidedly dreadful. For some reason I can’t seem to shake it.

Friends being what they are – bless them all, have made suggestions like have a change of scenery, or, go on a holiday and other equally logical suggestions. The trouble with ideas like those is that a wad of the folding stuff is necessary to achieve them, a commodity which I sadly lack. And so my change of scenery is from the living room to the bedroom with this laptop. At least I’m catching up on my reading here under the duvet. It’s too darned cold to be anywhere else in the house at the moment (7 deg Celsius according to the thermometer).

As for the holiday suggestion, I might pluck up the courage to decamp to the living room in a moment, to sit in front of the television wrapped up with blankets and duvet and lose myself in a movie or something like a nature programme for an hour or so.

You all think I'm kidding right? Wrong! Living on a low fixed income is no fun believe me.

My review of Jacques Tati His Life & Art by David Bellos

2012-01-14T03:30:00.000-08:00

Far from producing a well-informed biography of France’s greatest cinematic clown, Jacques Tati, instead Bellos ruthlessly dissects. Despite his clinical approach, there is just enough tantalising information about Tati, the brilliant creator of Monsieur Hulot, to hold my attention.

Do I really want to know about the various colour film processes available in France? Not really. Nor do I want to read yet again about the dire financial straits France found itself in after World War I, as well as what was going on in Europe during the years before and after World War II! Acres of text have already been written concerning these times and events.

When I purchase a book purportedly written about one of my all-time favourite comedic heroes, I fully expect to read about the man – nothing else. But instead it seems to me that Bellos has turned his book into an intellectual diatribe against Tati, coldly ripping his memory apart. In fact Bellos is more like a mortician, clinically wishing to expose the body lying on the slab before him by carving it up to look at its many parts, rather than appreciate the whole. He appears to think of Jacques Tati as nothing more than a mere coincidence in the scheme of things, when in fact the reverse is true.

Now if only someone would write a truly worthwhile biography of Jacques…

I reluctantly give Bellos' book two stars

Just another day

2012-01-12T02:36:00.000-08:00

Don’t tell anyone folks, but I realized this morning that I was talking to myself. I was trying to decide on what I wanted for my breakfast, or even if I was hungry. As I stumbled down the passageway from my bedroom to the kitchen, I suddenly stopped outside its door. “Brrr – I’m cold!” I said out loud. So I headed back to the bedroom and grabbed my clothes, quickly dressing myself before the shivering really took hold.

Next, into the living room, on with the environment friendly low power lights and TV, then out to the kitchen to boil the kettle for a plunger full of coffee. While the kettle went to work I sat myself down in front of the box to watch the news wrapped up in a blanket. Can’t afford to run the heaters anymore for two reasons – the first being the exorbitant cost of electricity these days here in Britain, and the second reason, my severely ‘fixed’ income.

With the plunger of black coffee and my favourite mug beside me, I continued watching the news. But once it began repeating itself, I lost interest. The BBC has adopted the American style of news broadcasting these days – take five minutes to deliver the news then repeat everything endlessly for two hours.

By this time I was slowly warming up under three layers of woollen cardigans and a wool blanket across my legs. “Wow – it’s a whole 12ºC inside. Can I stand this heat wave,” I wondered out loud?

Picking up this old laptop of mine, I fired it up and opened my Kindle for PC application and began reading a couple more chapters of the book I’m currently into – “Jacques Tati, His Life and Art”. Then it was onto the internet to peruse the news and catch up with my emails etc. Now I’m writing this before returning to Jacques Tati.

Bugger! Its 10.23am and I’ve just realised something else – I still haven’t had any breakfast! Oh well, at least I’ve stopped talking to myself, and it will soon be lunchtime.

Life

2012-01-10T04:53:00.000-08:00

What is life? What’s it all about? We are conceived, then nine months later we’re born. If all goes well we live for seventy plus years then we die. Life places all kinds of obstacles in our way, or should that read fate, or maybe chance, I don’t know for sure. The one thing I know for certain is that life is a gamble at best.

I remember vividly to this day when I was four, sixty years ago now, standing up in front of a chair leaning on its seat, reading out loud to my parents from an illustrated book of bible stories. With the billions of thoughts and everyday experiences I’ve had since then, I wonder why I still retain that particular memory. Thinking about it, it is my earliest.

When I went to school, the one thing I loved more than anything was the written word. Practically every subject that wasn’t directly related to it meant absolutely nothing to me. Mathematics and any science based subject in all their many forms, was just so much gobbledegook to me. Exams terrified me to the point where I literally froze, unable to even contemplate the first question. When the time came for me to sit with all the others for whatever exam was put in front of us, the best I could do was write my name at the top of the paper, unless I was required to write an essay.

I left high school without graduating having contracted pneumonia before the last set of exams – School Certificate. Once I had recovered, I volunteered for military service in the navy, glad to be rid of school. Great I thought, at least I’ll get to see some of the world. Yes I did, but at what cost to myself? It was not one of the brightest decisions I’ve made, thinking about it now. All of the bullying, bad language and enforced discipline, which according to the military mind is designed to make a man of you (whatever that means) which every recruit endures, changes you of that there is no doubt. Far from making me an extrovert, it had the reverse effect. Time spent in warzones added to that inevitable change as well. After military service, the only jobs open to me were dead end ones, as I had no qualifications.

Right up to present day, the only thing that kept me sane was whatever book I held in my hands. No matter what crap job I did, I always knew that when I got home I could lose myself in that book.

I’m not a religious person in any way shape or form. When your early years are spent in a high church school as mine were, you either become a believer, or like me at age seven, you see through the hypocrisy of it all.

All your life you work for someone else, being paid peanuts in exchange for long hours of mindless toil, gaining nothing worthwhile for yourself, until society decides you are no longer wanted. Millions of people still cling to the delusion of ‘job satisfaction.’ Why they persist in believing they are indispensable to their employer eludes me. I once believed I was until I found myself unemployed in my fifties.

Increasingly these days the age at which people are shoved onto the scrapheap is heading inexorably downward towards forty. At my age I have become one of the forgotten millions living on the breadline with nothing to look forward to but the end of my mortality. But at least I still have the written word to exercise and entertain my mind.

No amount of meddling in my life by the establishment can ever take that away from me. I was made homeless once, I may be again, but so long as I have a book to read, I know I’m alright. Why didn’t I do something with my love of words then? Hindsight is a wonderful thing. It’s easy to be knowledgeable after the fact.

Life is a cruel master.

Literary Critics

2012-01-09T11:31:00.000-08:00

A couple of days ago a good friend of mine posted an article on Facebook about the Nobel Literature Prize committee and J.R.R Tolkien. What it amounted to was that according to the committee’s lofty ideals, Tolkien was a nonstarter for consideration by them for the literature prize that year, after his friend and colleague C.S Lewis nominated him.

Since the article was posted it has drawn a lot of comments for or against Tolkien. I am one of the millions who firmly believe that J.R.R is one of the very best storytellers to come out of the twentieth century.

Granted his use of his and my mother tongue is very Edwardian and somewhat longwinded, but is that a bad thing? I think not. After all, each generation writes differently from those gone before, and so the way a story is written is purely down to the version of the language current for them at the time. In a hundred years from now, many future readers will puzzle of J.K Rowling’s use of the language, but I bet they will love her storytelling.

To illustrate my point, one of my favourite books was written during the Edwardian era – Riddle of the Sands, by Erskine Childers. When I first attempted to read it, I found it really tough while struggling with his version of the English language. But once I got into it, Childers drew me in totally. Would ‘Riddle’ be considered worthy from the point of view of literary critics? Who cares, I love it, and that is all that really matters in the great scheme of things. Like J.R.R, Erskine got my attention by his storytelling.

What is the problem with critics and most of the literary establishment? By that I mean the top publishers and the more academically minded, those who still believe that no work written by anyone other than them, using their own particular way of writing in the English language, or one of their disciples is truly worthy. Why do they seem to think that they and they alone, know what the reading public will like?

Who actually gives a damn about a bunch of literary snobs like them – certainly not the average reader? Just ask the millions of Tolkien lovers across the world. If J.R.R is rubbish, then I say give me more please. Maybe those who run the big six publishing houses and the plethora of literary critics should stop blethering and get writing themselves. If they took up my challenge, would their work be read? Who knows – nothing is certain.

Time Enough

2012-01-08T04:13:00.000-08:00

The light of early dawn woke him as its first rays caressed his closed eyes. Today was an auspicious one for him. It was the day when he would set out on his inevitable journey. All his life he had been preparing for this very day. He wasn’t filled with dread over it, far from it. Every one of his kind had to take the same journey. They had no choice; after all, it was expected to maintain the species. It is after all, the way of things.

His foot touched the floor. Brrr, the air was chill. At his age, among other things, chilblains plagued him. As he stood unsteadily, his body shivered while he now endured the cold of the air around him.

Outside his winter retreat, the world was now fully awake. Spring had finally arrived. As he made his way down the dark passageway his eyes subconsciously took in every detail one last time. He had wintered here for more years than he cared to count – time enough for most.

What lay ahead of him as he took those first steps on his journey, no one, especially him, knew for certain. He knew there would be happy times and sad. Danger was sure to arise; he was under no illusion about that whatsoever. And yet this journey was inevitable. He couldn’t simply ignore it. When one such as he reached this particular moment in his life, it was the time to go.

When he was much younger, he hadn’t a care in the world. He enjoyed the company of his kind and the many others who lived alongside him, mostly in peace. From time to time there were the inevitable arguments – even fights. But most lived like him, keeping their noses out of other’s business, not taking sides unless it was absolutely necessary for their, and his, survival.

He ate his breakfast in silence. Next he prepared for the first few days of his journey. He would exist on whatever he could find along the way. By noon he was ready to set out. Once he had left for the final time, and he had taken those first steps, there was no turning back. Then a problem arose in his mind. Which direction should he take? Should it be south perhaps, or maybe east or west, even north? Another problem occurred to him, to which he had no immediate answer. How long would the journey last?

He covered barely a few yards, deciding to head south, before…

“Yuk!”

“What?”

“Nothing – just stood on a snail.”