GEORGE CARLIN

Goddamn, it’s been a year for losing genius’. Now George Carlin is dead, aged 71. Truth be told, he was never going to outlive George Burns, not with his lifestyle, but still, he was arguably one of the best three or four stand up comedians of the 20th century, and his passing represents a real loss to anybody who appreciates hard-bitten, precise observation. His wasn’t the fluffy nothingness of a Jerry Seinfeld, or the cozy reinforcement of a Tim Allen or Jeff Foxworthy. Carlin trod the same path as the likes of Lenny Bruce, Bill Hicks, and Billy Connolly, challenging the perceptions of his audiences and the structural status quo of the culture around him. He was, by turns, savage, acerbic, loving, and radio-friendly, and yet managed to maintain his rage and sense of damnation through forty years and something like 20-odd albums. And he transcended age: my boys knew him from his appearances in movies like Dogma, Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back, and the Bill & Ted movies, and now they want to know more, to hear what he was all about.

I don’t own enough of his work: my predilection for collecting comedy albums on the original vinyl is shown up by Perth’s distance from anywhere meaningful for such endeavours. But what I have is brilliant indeed, and among my list of stuff to be rescued from house fires.

If you’ve not experienced his work before, there are lists of quotes all about. Here’s a couple for starters: here and here

SCREENWEST PASS

Damn. Screenwest have decided not to offer Cirque any monetary reward. So the question now becomes: pursue it further as a TV script, or thing about converting it to a novel? Hmmm. One field I know almost nothing about, and the other field everybody else thinks I know nothing about. Spoilt for choice, me……

END OF AHWA MENTORSHIP

Ah, well. It’s been fun. My mentorship period on behalf of the AHWA has come to and end. It’s been great to work with Ben and Jason, and hopefully they’ve picked up a tip or two along the way (Remember: you can learn something from anyone, even if it’s only what not to do…). Now it’s time for them to test their work against the refined sense of editors everywhere, and get their stories into as many hands as possible.

I think they’ll do just fine.

REMIXERS HOWAY!!

The first story in the groovy Remix my Lit project is up at the website and available for remixing. Cut, paste, wibble, handwave, set to interpretive dance, do that shwimmy-shwimmy Star Trek transporter special effect, whatever you like, and send it on to them in order to be part of a very special project.

Direct from Remix-honcho Amy Barker to you:


This is a remixable short story. Write a remixed version and then email it to anthology@creativecommons.org.au for your chance to be published in a hard copy anthology alongside Emily and her original work, along with more of Australia's best writers.
All remixes will be published on the Remix My Lit website.

More stories to come.
www.remixmylit.com

Cherished
by Emily Maguire

This girl I hang out with sometimes wears shiny red polish which draws attention to her ragged nails and sunless skin. Silver bikie rings squat on her stumpy fingers.

Her eye-makeup is always uneven. This is not a fashion statement; she does not flaunt a retro-blue-frosted left eye and a goth-inspired-charcoaled right. It is only that she is easily distracted and so will forget to apply a second coat of mascara on one eye or blend the liner on the other. From a distance it looks fine, but up close the imbalance is off-putting.

Her hair is the colour of dried blood. It smells of chemicals and is stiff to the touch. In a photo taken on her sixteenth birthday it is waist length, shiny and brown. I asked her why she changed it but she only laughed.

When she dances or argues she grows a perspiration moustache. During sex, sweat coats her forehead even if the rest of her remains dry and cool.

A tan would disguise the steel-blue veins radiating from her areolae, but she is not the type to sunbathe topless nor is she a woman familiar with salon treatments. She leaves her disposable razors in my soap dish and her tweezers on the basin.

I think her gums are unhealthy, because one time she borrowed my toothbrush and left behind a smear of pinkish toothpaste at the base of the bristles.

I suggested she buy some new jeans after I overheard a mutual friend make an unflattering comment about the size of her arse, but her new jeans were even tighter. The angry lines they leave on her belly make me think of childbirth.

And yet when she checks her reflection in my bathroom mirror, she smiles like she has caught sight of a beloved friend.


My own story, tentatively entitled Alchymical Romance should be available within the next month or so, along with several others. Far be it from me to tell you how to do your work, but I'm looking forward to seeing who can combine elements from different stories into a new narrative.....

SPONGECONNOR BONNORPANTS

So, I'm not suggesting my three year old son watches too much Spongebob, but this morning, as a reward for working so hard in the garden, we take the family to McDonalds for a late breakfast.

The Mccheckoutchick asks us what we'd like to order. Connor looks the pictures behind her head and shouts "A crabby patty!"

Father dissolves in laughter. Mcregisterjockey looks blank. Father rofls even more.....

DEATH OF A MONSTROUS LEGEND

Goddammit. Stan Winston is dead.

This guy scared the willies out of me in so many ways, at so many times. He was at the very peak of monster making, between the stop motion stuff that we loved and forgave despite its awkwardness and the CGI blowouts that make modern spectaculars so ho hum (when anything is possible, then everything becomes mundane...). He ranks with Ray Harryhausen, Willis O'Brien, Rick Baker and Jim Henson as one of the greatest exponents of visual suspension of disbelief I've ever experienced. His honour roll is mind-boggling: Iron Man, Aliens, Constantine, Predator, Leviathan, and on and on and on. If you're an SF/adventure movie lover, the full list will make you smile a smile of much goofyness.

If you're not familiar with his work, Rob Hood has a fantastic gallery of images, as well as some of his own thoughts.

62. Too damn soon.

BOOKS UP THE WAZOO!

It never rains but it pours books, which is why you have to carry a heavy duty umbrella......

No sooner does my contributor copy of Aurealis 40 arrive in the mail than I come home from work last night to find that the Clarionite of Cool, Peter M Ball, in happiness at how much we loved his last mail-gift, has sent us another Etgar Keret volume, The Bus Driver Who Wanted to Be God and Other Stories. Luscious, in response to a conversation earlier in the day, has returned from the library with a Will Self book for me to sample (Dorian, for those who might be interested). And to top it all off, a big box marked 'Harper Collins' arrived, containing two contributor copies of Dreaming Again, ready for me to riffle through, sniff, and rub all over my naked body!

And lookie here: me with a day off work today :)

RECEIVED

In today's mail, my contributor copy of Aurealis#40, containing my story Never Grow Old. Apart from your humble correspondent, there are contributions from, amongst others, three of my favourite Australian authors- Stephen Dedman, Paul Haines, and Adam Browne. You'll be hard pressed to find a better trilogy of talent in an Australian magazine this year. Added to which, editor Stuart Mayne has answered my ego-boost prayers and awarded me another illustration by the sublimely talented Adam Duncan (who gave me the wondrous illo for Father Muerte & The Joy of Warfare in issue 37), so I'm a happy writer-guy indeed.

Go. Buy. Read.


OTHER PEOPLE'S WORK

So it's one of those periods where my own work sits forlornly on a shelf because I'm hip-deep in the works of others: my AHWA mentorship has entered its final fortnight, which saddens me because I've had a fabulous time working with Jason & Ben; and I am now the proud renter of three foolscap files of stories containing something like 100 stories to read in the next couple of weeks as part of a secret squirrel project I'm involved in. So there's little to report in regards to my own advancements of word upon page.

Instead, I offer this moment of memage, gakked from Luscious, who gakked it in turn from Martin Livings-

List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they’re not any good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now, shaping your winter. Post these instructions in your blog along with your 7 songs. Then tag 7 other people to see what they’re listening to.

Well, I'm not going to tag anyone, but seven songs? I can do that:

1. Everybody Knows You Cried Last Night- The Fratellis. I first heard The Fratellis as part of the soundtrack for the movie Hot Fuzz, where they contributed a rocking cover of T-Rex's Solid Gold, Easy Action and their own composition, Baby Fratelli. It was enough for me to eventually get around to downloading their debut album Costello Music. And every track is a winner: stomping, infectious anthems that recall the best moments of bands like Little Feat, The Sweet, and the Small Faces. Honestly, I could have picked anything from this album- I'm listening to it at least once a day at the moment- but this is arguably my favourite (just shading songs like Chelsea Dagger and Country Boys & City Girls. Loving it. And now I have their follow-up, Here We Stand. And I'm loving that too. (Acid Jazz Singer already stands out)

2. Jump (They Say)- David Bowie. Grant Watson is responsible for this one, cutting a 'Best of Post-89' disc for me after a discussion of the man's music. An ode to loss and despair in the wake of his brother's death, it has become easily my favourite Bowie track because it's one of the few moments where he comes out from behind the theatre and speaks directly from his pain. And there's an amazing streak of gallows humour that runs through this, bleak and self-hating and immensely powerful. Like the best of Bowie's work, it's astonishingly tuneful, which means you can love this solely as a piece of music without grasping the deeper meanings behind the lyrics. It's a truly masterful song, and another on my high rotation.

3. Blood Theme- Daniel Licht. Oh, I am so into Dexter right now. I own the first three books, I've bought the first season DVD box set, I even entered and won a Hachette Livre contest and scored another Season One box set, a t-shirt, and a blood spatter kit. And the soundtrack. Hotdamn, I love the soundtrack to the series. It's schizophrenic: the first half based around a series of swinging Cuban dance tunes (and the abominable Andy Williams Born Free), the second half comprised of the creepy and haunting score by composer Daniel Licht. Again, I could have chosen any of Licht's pieces, but Blood Theme, which closes each episode, has an extra quality- a sense of finality, a surety that the other pieces, by nature of their place within the show's framework, lack.

4. The Ballad of Dwight Frye- Alice Cooper. I've been a huge fan of Cooper since seeing a theatre group perform a dance routine to Welcome To My Nightmare when I was 11. Bit by bit I've collected his catalogue, and some tracks, particularly from his early, pre-solo career, stand out as truly bizarre theatrical experiences: tracks like Halo of Flies and Desperado are incredible. I've loved this song since first hearing- I'm a Dwight Frye fan, and my story The Ballad of Henry Renfield (from the upcoming Monster Noir) was written very much as homage to it.

5. Death of a Clown- Kinks. Another song that has inspired my own work, in this case the premise and first episode of my TV series Cirque, which I pitched for the recent Screenwest TV Awards. Ray Davies is a beautiful writer of musical narrative, and there's so much mourning and loss in this song that it grips me from beginning to end no matter how often I listen to it. Something is lost by the song's narrator, beyond the death of the main charatcer: some sense of life, of immortality, of innocence. I know I'll spend years trying to unravel the layers in this one, and applying that understanding to my own work.

6. Vicious Traditions- The Veils. Another song we discovered via the fillums. In this case, the Costner/Hurt vehicle Mr Brooks, a movie the Lyn and I love. Yeah, it's got a couple of cop outs towards the end, but until then it's fantastic, and this amazingly haunting song turns what might be a somewhat naff moment into a scene of true terror and loss. Taken on its own it stands out from the rest of the Veils' somewhat mundane catalogue as one of those moments where somebody had an idea that went against the usual grain, took to it without fear of failure, and created something special.

7. The Dead Eyes Opened- Headless Chickens. It's a dance tune set to a fake 30s radio story about an animate severed head on top of a bonfire. What else do you need? It's loopy, funny, weird, and bloody catchy. Loves it, I do.

And you know, cos Battlists have the habit:

8. My Weakness- Moby. It's no sceret that I find my day job spiritually exhausting. It's deadsoul stuff, pointless adminsitrative database pounding that counts only for the time it takes me away from writing. There are train trips home where all I want is to sink into a soundscape and let someone else carry me into the clouds. And that would be Moby. Of several I could have chosen (I love The Sky Is Broken just as much), I chose this one because it was first on the playlist today.

There you go. If you do this one yourself, let me know in the comments or link back.

THE COOLEST ADVICE EVER

Morning tea today was a going away party for a fellow in our team who has decided to call it quits now that he’s turned 70.

Yeah. Seventy. And you should hear the plans he has for what he’s going to do next.

So when he was asked what the secret was to his energiser-bunny level of enthusiasm and passion, he gave this reply, which is too damn cool not to share:

Always have something you can’t give up on.

I should be half this cool at his age.

OH DEAR

Overheard at work today

"It’s Detective Goran, not Inspector. He’ll never get promoted with his attitude."

Where do you start......?

TO LEE BATTERSBY, THE WORLD’S GREATEST UNPUBLISHED 18 YEAR OLD, BEST WISHES AND GOOD LUCK, ALGIS BUDRYS

Back in 1989, I did a couple of things in quick succession: read Algis Budrys’ novel Michaelmas and discovered the Writers Of The Future contest, which Budrys was co-ordinating. In those pre-net days (how did we ever survive?) you had to write in to get details of the competition. So I did- a gushing half-query, half-fan letter in which I signed myself off as ‘the world’s greatest unpublished 18 year old’.

Shaddup. I was young, okay?

In due course, back came the guidelines sheet. But also: a copy of the latest Writers Of The Future anthology, with an inscription inside— the title of this post.

Was I inspired? I had a story in the mail within a fortnight. It didn’t win, it didn’t even place. But the fuse was lit. Over the next 19 years I’ve written and performed stand-up comedy and one-act plays; published poetry, cartoons, reviews, interviews and short stories; completed my first novel; written a feature film and a television series pitch; and on and on and so forth. The whole of my bibliography, set into motion by an act of kindness.

In 2001, after several years away doing other things, I entered the Writers of the Future competition for the second time, and became the first Western Australian to win. In August of 2002, I flew to LA as part of my prize, where I was going to be able to meet Budrys and tell him, face to face, what he’d inspired in me. To make things even better, before I flew out, I sold and saw published a reworked version of that story I’d originally written back in 89 (there’s a hint, kids. Never throw anything out….). It’s still archived: you can read it here. Sadly, Budrys fell ill, and so we never met, but I was able to tell the story, and have it relayed to him.

Last night, as reported over at Ed Gorman’s blog amongst others, Algis Budrys died of cancer, aged 77. We never did get to meet, but he was, and always will be, a central figure in my karass. He was a writer of important works: Michaelmas is a major SF novel and unarguably one of the major precursors of cyberpunk, and Who? is an astonishingly humanist reworking of the cold war/spy thriller. But more than that—he was an inspirational and kindly figure who will be remembered by a generation of writers for the hand he held out to them along the way.

Vale.

HOW TO BREAK A FATHER’S HEART IN ONE EASY LESSON

I worked overtime yesterday, which meant I left the house at 6.30am, just after Connor woke up, and didn’t return until 9pm, long after he’d gone to sleep. This morning, he climbed into our bed at 5.40 and only peeled himself off me to eat breakfast and allow me to get dressed. No way was this little boy going to be looked after by his big brother while Lyn ran me to the train station: along he came for the ride. And cried all the way, and wouldn’t let me go when I leaned in his door for a goodbye hug. And then, when I said ‘I love you’, what was his reply?

No you don’t.

bdoombdoombdoombskkkkkkkkkktinkletinkle

I HAVE THE MOST DISTURBING CHILDREN IN THE WORLD

Overheard, whilst gardening on Sunday, my darling children playing a game they called "Boyfriends"

ERIN: He's so dreamy
CONNOR: He beautiful
ERIN: We must kill him
CONNOR: And eat him

I don't want to know, I don't want to know, I don't want to know......

WHO SAYS I'M BORED?

Gakked from Tehani:

1. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
2. Using only the first page, pick an image.
3. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into this mosaic maker.

The Questions:
1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. Favorite drink?
7. Dream vacation?
8. Favorite dessert?
9. What you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. One Word to describe you.
12. Your flickr name (Okay, I don't actually have a flickr name, so I just used my surname).






1. Lee Plaza Piano, 2. Italians, 3. Wind Surfing at Safety Bay, 4. Burgundy Moth, 5. Audrey Tatou #2!, 6. Newcastle Brown Sunset, 7. Atrani (Italy), 8. summer pudding, 9. The writer's work, 10. Lee & Lyn Battersby, 11. The Outsider (cropped), 12. Battersby Junction

IN COMICS-ABOUT-SPEAKING-DINOSAURS NEWS.....

Dinosaur Comics still makes me cackle like a witch on acid.


IN BASKETBALL NEWS

Just found out that Adelaide 36ers centre Luke Schenscher has been cut from the Boomers squad for the Human Rights Free Tibet Olympics later this year.

Luke is Battfam by association, being brother and in-law to the wonderful Kate & Jason Fischer, so on this omission by the possibly-drunk-and-doing-it-on-a-dare Brian Goorjian I can only get all Flying High jive-speak and say shiiiiiiiiitttttt.

Here's hoping he responds in the best way possible and posts triple doubles against all teams bar the Wildcats next season.

HAND ME MY DOOZERS, WOMAN!

You know, if Hoodwinked wasn't such a disappointing pile of poo, this would be news guaranteed to make most of the Battfam make that stupid squee noise so beloved of certain fan types.

I'll settle instead for a small Wallace-at-the-thought-of-cheese-type hand wave.

WHO'S A CLEVER BOY, THEN?

One of the most outlandishly talented of my Clarion South students, Peter Ball (he of the unicorn porn physics) has a story up at Fantasy Magazine this week.

Like the man himself, it's proof of the virtues of having a weird wriggling thing for a brain.

Read it here.

COZ IT AIN'T A SICK DAY WITHOUT A MEME

Gakked from Stephen Dedman

Go here and keep hitting random quotes until you get five that resonate with you, then post them in your journal.

I don't know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everybody
Bill Cosby (1937 - )

It is what you learn after you know it all that counts
John Wooden (1910 - )

I was thought to be 'stuck up.' I wasn't. I was just sure of myself. This is and always has been an unforgivable quality to the unsure
Bette Davis(1908 - 1989), The Lonely Life, 1962

Why is my existence so perfect with dark places? And why do I no longer care?
Lemuel W. H. Ranier

That's just the way things go. We meet people, get to know them and then they get up and leave us behind
Takayuki Ikkaku, Arisa Hosaka and Toshihiro Kawabata, Animal Crossing: Wild World


OR TWO

From Angelaina

What was the last story you read?
The first draft of Lyn's new story The Found House. Last (pre-)published story: The Immaculate Conception by Matt Hults, in the galley of The Beast Within

What was the last poem you read?
Aesculapius in the Underworld by Ryan G Van Cleave, in Year's Best Fantasy & Horror 15.

What was the last comic you read?
Fallen Son: The Death of Captain America by Jeph Loeb and a cast of thousands

What was the last movie you watched?
Mister Brooks, for the 2nd time, on DVD

What song are you listening to now? Say something about it--what it means to you, who introduced you to it, something like that.
Vicious Traditions by The Veils. A beautifully haunting song that stands out a mile from the rest of their work.

What's your guilty-reading pleasure?
It used to be Dick Francis novels, but I've since stopped feeling guilty.

Say something about the last poem you wrote!
I wrote two in a day whilst at work recently, image-canoodlings that surprised me by becoming coherent and visually sound.

Say something about a story you're writing now!
Comfort represents a departure from my recent work: a change in tense, POV, narratorial voice, and based very much around an interior journey rather than exterior action. It'll take some getting right, but it'll be nice to change direction once again.

If you were a fictional character, who would be writing you?
A sadistic bastard.

And a link to your favorite magazine, because they probably need your help. ;)
Aurealis.

CUE READERGASSSSSSSMMMMMMMMMMMMM........... NOW.













Pre-order it here. NOW!!!

I HAVE AMBITIONS OF BECOMING A BACTERIA....

Reprinted with the author's permission: an email received from the uberkid himself, Jasoni Fischerio:

At a recent writing group I was accused of having "Lee Battersby Disease". I should explain, I tendered a story for critting in which the protagonist is immortal and has supernatural powers etc, and this one bloke drew a long bow and compared Raoul the minotaur to Father Muerte (apples and oranges anyone?). I told him I actually knew you personally. Insert uncomfortable awkward pause......

By which I can only assume that Lee Battersby Disease makes your story middle-aged, overweight, and yet beguilingly handsome :)

A SENSE OF ACHIEVEMENT

Nobody remembers the war against the Sirk. Hardly anybody knew it was happening. The Governments of the world covered it up, used it as the excuse for their own conflicts, their own schemes of expansion and death. But no matter how many of our own we killed, there was always one common aim: destroy the Sirk. Wipe them out. They came to us as refugees, begging our help. In return, we murdered them in their millions. Is it any wonder the survivors hide?

So begins Cirque, the TV show project I pitched for the Screenwest TV Awards recently. In the last couple of weeks I've also: sent my Australia Council grants application; sent my 2009 KSP Residency application; completed the first draft of Comfort, my submission to the Datlow/Mamatas-edited Hauntings anthology; proof-read the galley of my The Beast Within story The Claws of Native Ghosts; completed the fourth draft of The Possession of Mister Snopes, my submission to the upcoming Interstitial anthology; been pencilled in as editor for the 4th issue of the AHWAs new fiction magazine Midnight Echoes; and continued my mentoring of Jason Crowe and Ben Szumskyj.

I feel a bit like a writer.

A REMINDER

Only a couple of days left to get your entries in for the Katharine Susannah Prichard SF/F Competition. Check out the details one final time:


The Katharine Susannah Prichard Speculative Fiction Awards 2008
Closing date: 5pm Friday May 30, 2008
Words: Minimum 1500, maximum 3500.
All forms of Speculative Fiction welcome.
2 Sections: OPEN and the Shire of Mundaring National Young Writers Awards (20 years and under)

PRIZES

Open: First $200, Second $50
Young Writers Awards: First $75, Second $25
Highly Commended and Commended Certificates will also be awarded.

Awards announced and presented at KSP Writers’ Centre, Sun August 17, 2008.
No entry form required

CONDITIONS OF ENTRY

1. Entry fees: Open - $7.50 per story, to be paid by cheque or money order only. Young Writers Awards – no entry fee

2. Work to be original, unpublished, not received an award in another competition and not under consideration elsewhere from the time of entry in these awards until the official announcement of winners.

3. Limit of three stories per author. Individual stories cannot be entered in more than one section

4. Entries to be typewritten, double-spaced on one side only of A4 white paper, with pages numbered, a wide left-hand margin, and story title on each page. A good photocopy is acceptable. Post in an A4 size envelope.

5. To ensure anonymity NO WRITERS’ NAMES TO APPEAR ON MANUSCRIPT (MS). Please attach a COVER SHEET with name of story, word count, section entered, and age if Young Writer

6. On a SEPARATE SHEET please attach form below

7. MSs will only be returned if adequately stamped self-addressed envelope (SSAE) of sufficient size is included. Other manuscripts will be destroyed after the competition, so keep a copy of your work.

8. Include a business-sized SSAE if you would like only a results sheet

9. Award winners will be notified by phone or mail prior to announcement, when those able to attend will be invited to read excerpts from their stories

10. Members of the KSP Foundation Management Committee are not allowed to enter

11. The judges’ decisions are final, and no correspondence will be entered into

12. The KSP Foundation Inc. reserves the right to publish the winning entry or entries in a publication related to KSP should the opportunity occur, in consultation with the author

Send entries to:
KSP Speculative Fiction Awards
11 Old York Road
GREENMOUNT
WA 6056

Entries which do not reflect the stated conditions, or are postmarked later than 5pm May 30, may be disqualified without notice and the fee/s forfeited.

IT'S BILLIE PIPER'S NIPPLES ALL OVER AGAIN!

How the hell does someone get to my blog via the search term photo of christopher eccleston wearing a sock on his dick ?

More to the point: why do they want to know?

AND BECAUSE I MAY HAVE FOUND A NEW ADDICTION

One of my own :)

REE-OOH-UR-EEH-OOH NOISES IN MY BRAIN....



Smirched from the legend that is Jasoni:

HOW COOL IS THIS?

Coelacanthy goodness.

Go down to the bit about popular culture :)

REMIX MY LIT, BABY

Good news, musketeers! The fablicious Remix My Lit project has received the funding it deserves, so as long as I deliver a story by July, we'll all be able to see it remixed live by some deeply cool and aspiring young writers at the Melbourne Festival in August.

I'm being joined by such cred-heavy writers as Jeff Noon and Kim Wilkins, so this is going to be a dandy!

HARD AT IT

Australia Council Grant application: done.
Residency application: done.
Mentoring: Pretty much up to date- one more story to offer comments and a couple of emails to answer

Currently: hard at work banging away at my application for the Screenwest TV Writer's Award. At the very least, it has enabled me to fulfill one of my silliest ambitions-- titling an entire series of television episodes after Kinks songs.

Still to come: submissions for Hauntings, Interstitial, New Ceres, and the Realms of Fantasy Halloween 2009 issue, as well as my contribution to the Remix My Lit project, and a story to complete my half of a bargain with that creature of strangeness, Jason Fischer? What bargain, you ask? To submit to each other, by the 30th of June, a story entitled Rodeo of the Flesh. Sigh. I pick 'em..... And, of course, the novels.

It's all go.

I AM MARLON BRANDO WHEN YOUNG AND PRETTY

Well, I mean, obviously, duh....

Your Score: Julius Caesar

You scored 37% = Tragic, 34% = Comic, 24% = Romantic, 51% = Historic

You are Julius Caesar. Set during the mid-March in Rome, Julius Caesar tells the story of the conspiracy against and assassination of Julius Caesar. While not considered one of Shakespeare's Histories, Julius Caesar is a fictionalized account of a true story. What your score tells us about you is that you are most likely a complex individual who, like Brutus, may struggle between the conflicting demands of friendship, loyalty, and patriotism. However, also like Brutus, you are undoubtedly someone to whom your friends often go before making a big decision. You are their rock, and they wouldn't think of doing anything without first asking you what you think. However, like Caesar, himself, you tragic flaw, might be that you don't take advice or criticism well even if it is constructive. Take heed to listen to good advice when you hear it, and for gosh sake... beware the ides of March.

Link: The Which Shakespeare Play Are You? Test written by macbee

JESUS? NICE GUY. CATERED MY COUSIN'S WEDDING.

Well, bugger me. I was expecting less than 50%, considering how much I actually know about the Bible. Of course, when questions like How did Jesus feed the 5000? have possible answers like pizza and Chinese take-out, I'm guessing I can't get credits for previous study when I apply for seminary school....

You know the Bible 79%!

Wow! You are truly a student of the Bible! Some of the questions were difficult, but they didn't slow you down! You know the books, the characters, the events . . . Very impressive!

Ultimate Bible Quiz
Create MySpace Quizzes

Incidentally, extra points for knowing what I'm quoting in the title of this post....

DOING SOMETHING RIGHT

Inside Erin's classroom at school is a big picture of a tree. On that tree are hung a bunch of leaves. One each leaf is the name of one of the children in the class, and the word that best describes them. There are a lot of leaves marked friendliness.


Erin's is marked honesty.


I spent all of last week at home, suffering from the accumulation of large physicall irritants. On Friday morning, at the pleading of my daughter, I levered myself out of bed and accompanied Lyn & Connor to watch Erin receive a merit certificate at her school assembly. Why? For having an enthusiastic attiude to her work and always trying hard to present it neatly and accurately.


Engage proud mode. Proud mode engaged.

Our beautiful daughter

THE MOTHER'S DAY CLASSIC: TWICE IN A ROW IS A TRADITION

Let’s get one thing straight: the last thing you’ll see me doing on Father’s Day is getting up at the crack of aaaargh in order to run 3.5 kilometres around Lake Monger in the name of breast cancer research. And I especially won’t be doing it for the second year running, and I definitely won’t shave something in the order of two entire minutes off last year’s time, never mind doing all this less than 24 hours after testing myself against a bunch of huge, burly fellows who want to be train guards, doing high-speed beep tests and dragging mannequins that weigh 13 kilograms more than I do from pillar to posts all afternoon because, well, it just occurred to me that it might be something I wanted to do.

It’s pretty bloody nice being married to Superwoman, you know……

My wife described in one word: phwoaaaarrrrr.

IN WHICH A CERTAIN WIFE AND MOTHER GETS WHAT'S COMING TO HER...

Jehovah's Witnesses don't celebrate Mother's Day. The husbands and children's of Jehovah's Witnesses, on the other hand, occasionally get all bullheaded and insist that the giving of presents and making of meals has nothing to do with what the Jehovah's Witness wants, and that it's a chance for them to express just what she means to them, so she can just sit down, eat her favourite soup for lunch and cottage fish pie for dinner, read the handmade cards, unwrap the handmade paper, and accept the candlestick, goblet, cushion, and painted pot plant that they've given her.

Occasionally, Jehovah's Witnesses have the grace and love to accept such a scenario, and allow that, just maybe, they might deserve the overwhelming love their family has for them.

Which she does :)

OH GOD, MILK I NEVER DRANK JUST CAME OUT OF MY NOSE

So over at the blog of legendary manbeastchild Jason Fischer, he's listed a meme that shows you what your battle cry should be. And his is quite cool: I'm going to pummel you with such reckless abandon, you will wake up from the Matrix

Gnarly, huh? I can see Jasoni crying this out as his crime fighting alter ego, Cannibal Camel.

So, you know, I'm going to try this and come up with a cool battle cry I can yell whilst leaping off buildings in my tights n the dead of night and bringing to justice evil guys with names like The DeathPanther and Murderghost and Bald Guy From Survivor and stuff.

So what do I get?

What Is Your Battle Cry?

Striding out of the mountains, attacking with a piece of chainlink fence, cometh Lee Battersby! And he gives a booming scream: "I'm going to beat the flaming shit out of you!"

Find out! Enter username: Are you a girl, or a guy ?

created by beatings : powered by monkeys

There go my chances of Robert Downey Junior playing me in the movie...

BY THE WAY

You'll find my story The Claws of Native Ghosts in the latter tome. Go check out the pre-publicity and associated cool stuff.

HOWAY THE... ME?

Busybusybusybusybusybusybusy....

Not much posting in the foreseeable future. Much working and mentoring and working and I promise I'll do those edits sally and working and stressing and mentoring and applying for grants and bugger me I'm exhausted....

AUTOMATIC FOR THE (LONG-SUFFERING) PEOPLE

It's taken a long and painful two years, but finally, we've cracked automatic promotion back to the Championship where, sadly, we belong. With all due respect to the passionate footballing people of Tranmere, Cheltenham, Crewe et al, I hope I never have to think about you again. It's the turn of Leicester fans, now, to weep into their lagers :)

But please, lads, my lovely red-clad footballing lads: just for me, if not for everyone who actually gets to go along and see you play, could we please do something to ensure that I never again have to sit anxiously by my computer waiting for news of whether we've managed to overcome the might of a footballing colossus like bloody Yeovil on the last day of the season?

No pressure.

FRANK WOODLEY: POSSESSED

When Luscious and I were in Adelaide recently, we had the fabulous opportunity to get out and catch some theatre, something we'd been unable to do for far too long. Frank Woodley's new solo show Possessed was on, and I was keen, but Lyn professed to being not a great fan of Lano & Woodley, so we passed. Instead, we bought tickets to a show that was cancelled ten minutes before we were due to take our seats when a crew member electrocuted themselves and blew out every fuse in the hotel where the show was being staged. So it goes.

Tuesday night, thanks to the miracles of teen babysitter and free tickets from my work's social club, we got a second chance. And this time, we went.

Woodley's always been a fantastic performer, combining an amazing physical elasticity with a talent for drawing pathos and sympathy from an audience with subtle changes in stance. And yet, and yet....

Possessed is the story of Louie, a lonely borderline agarophobe who spends his days collecting sailing ship memorabilia and building model ships to hang around his tiny basement apartment. When he is possessed by the ghost of Phoebe O'Leary, an Irish girl who drowned whilst stowing away on the ship whose model he is currently building, it leads them both to question their relationship, their choices, and whether to stay locked up within their own personal purgatories or take the chance on actions that may liberate or damn them.

And much like the Jim Carrey movie The Cable Guy, what could (should?) have been a startlingly good example of one type of story (in the case of the movie, a black comedy. In the case of the play, a heartbreaking and ultimately sweet and hopeful love story) is cut off at the knees by the need to insert 'signature' aspects of the main performers style of comedy. Put more bluntly, there was far too much falling down stairs and not enough character in this one-person tour de force for it to be successful.

Don't get me wrong: Woodley still is, and will remain for some time, a masterful physical performer. But he's not so capable of character acting that I ever quite believed in his ability to transform from male to female mannerisms. His turns as Phoebe feel like just that: comic turns, a chance to mince and flap in a burlesque manner, rather than the assumption of a true alter ego. And, ultimately, the story of Phoebe's fate, and the journey she must take, are so well written and genuinely sad that they outweigh the bulk of the performace: Woodley's stock-in-trade physical buffoonery as the cross-lobed Louie is at odds with the tragedy that unfolds behind him. The end result is neither wholly one thing or another, and left me wondering what the play could have been if performed by a genuine character actor, played straight, or at least, with a greater balance between the sadness and a gentler form of melancholy humour.

BECAUSE YOU REALLY WANT TO ENTER THIS

The Katharine Susannah Prichard Speculative Fiction Awards 2008

Closing date: 5pm Friday May 30, 2008

Words: Minimum 1500, maximum 3500. All forms of Speculative Fiction welcome.

2 Sections: OPEN and the
Shire of Mundaring National Young Writers Awards (20 years and under)

PRIZES

OPEN: First $200 Second $50
Young Writers Awards: First $75 Second $25
Highly Commended and Commended Certificates will also be awarded.

Awards announced and presented at
KSP Writers’ Centre, Sun August 17, 2008.

No entry form required


CONDITIONS OF ENTRY

1. Entry fees:
Open - $7.50 per story, to be paid by cheque or money order only
Young Writers Awards – no entry fee
2. Work to be original, unpublished, not received an award in another competition and not under consideration elsewhere from the time of entry in these awards until the official announcement of winners.
3. Limit of three stories per author. Individual stories cannot be entered in more than one section
4. Entries to be typewritten, double-spaced on one side only of A4 white paper, with pages numbered, a wide left-hand margin, and story title on each page. A good photocopy is acceptable. Post in an A4 size envelope.
5. To ensure anonymity NO WRITERS’ NAMES TO APPEAR ON MANUSCRIPT (MS). Please attach a COVER SHEET with name of story, word count, section entered, and age if Young Writer
6. On a SEPARATE SHEET please attach form below
7. MSs will only be returned if adequately stamped self-addressed envelope (SSAE) of sufficient size is included. Other manuscripts will be destroyed after the competition, so keep a copy of your work.
8. Include a business-sized SSAE if you would like only a results sheet
9. Award winners will be notified by phone or mail prior to announcement, when those able to attend will be invited to read excerpts from their stories
10. Members of the KSP Foundation Management Committee are not allowed to enter
11. The judges’ decisions are final, and no correspondence will be entered into
12. The KSP Foundation Inc. reserves the right to publish the winning entry or entries in a publication related to KSP should the opportunity occur, in consultation with the author

Send entries to:
KSP Speculative Fiction Awards
11 Old York Road
GREENMOUNT WA 6056

Entries which do not reflect the stated conditions, or are postmarked later than
5pm May 30, may be disqualified without notice and the fee/s forfeited.

MEMEING THE DAY AWAY

A break from gardening, AHWA mentor line-editing, and back pain.

A-one

You Are a Dash

Your life is fast paced and varied. You are realistic, down to earth, and very honest. You're often busy doing something interesting, and what you do changes quickly. You have many facets to your personality, and you connect them together well. You have a ton of interests. While some of them are a bit offbeat, they all tie together well. You friends rely on you to bring novelty and excitement to their lives. (And while you're the most interesting person they know, they can't help feeling like they don't know you well.) You excel in: Anything to do with money You get along best with: the Exclamation Point

What Punctuation Mark Are You?

A-two

My Personality

Neuroticism	84
Extraversion	21
Openness to Experience	76
Agreeableness	1
Conscientiousness	27

You are not generally self conscious about yourself, however you tend to lack energy and have difficult initiating activities. You are not prone to spells of energetic high spirits. You prefer dealing with either people or things rather than ideas. You regard intellectual exercises as a waste of your time. You are willing to take credit for good things that you do but you don't often talk yourself up much, however you believe that a certain amount of deception in social relationships is necessary. You are guarded in new relationships and less willing to openly reveal the whole truth about yourself. You are a reasonably organized person and like to have a certain amount of routine in your life.

Take a Personality Test now or view the full Personality Report. The best UGG Boots.

(Wow. Even the internet hates me....)

A-three

You. Can. Only. Type. One. Word. Not as easy as you might think. Remember: one word answers.

1. Where is your mobile phone? Non-existent
2. Your significant other? Lyn
3. Your hair? Messy
4. Your mother? Deceased
5. Your father? Ray
6. Your favorite thing? Lyn
7. Your dream last night? Celtic
8. Your favorite drink? Cola
9. Your dream/goal? Writer-guy
10. The room you're in? Messy
11. Your ex? Deceased
12. Your fear? Sharks
13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Free
14. Where were you last night? Lounge
15. What you're not? Famous
16. Muffins? Lyn's
17. One of your wish list items? Novel
18. Where you grew up? Beach
19. The last thing you did? Edit
20. What are you wearing? Daggy
21. Your TV? Playstationing
22. Your pets? Finch
23. Your computer? Cruddy
24. Your life? Crises
25. Your mood? Exhausted
26. Missing someone? Lyn
27. Your car? Black
28. Something you're not wearing? Shoes
29. Favorite Store? Book
30. Your summer? Past
31. Like someone? Few
32. Your favorite color? Burgundy
33. When is the last time you laughed? Earlier
34. Last time you cried? Hospital

Ah, well. So much for that. back to work...

THE BANDAGE COMES OFF

His mother and I are traumatised. Connor, on the other hand, took one look at himself in the mirror and laughingly announced "I a tiger!"

Trust me, it looks better on film than it does in real life.

WHILE WE'RE AT IT

Heart congratulations to the delightful Karen Miller, who recently made the shortlist for the James Tiptree Award. And the equally delighftul Robert Hoge, who was selected as a judge for next year's World Fantasy Awards.

Friends in high places, man....

HOW TO MAKE A FATHER'S HEART STOP BEATING

Connor + shovel =

The emergency department of Princess Margaret Hospital looks lovely in the evening light.....

FOO TO YOU, PAL

*Edit: After correspondences, Aiden has asked me to remove some passages from this post.*

I still remember the first concert my brother and I ever went to on our own. Back in the day, local radio station 96fm held a series of concerts. At the age of 12, I saw INXS, Ganggajang and Boom Crash Opera for the princely sum of $9.96.

By the time I was 15, I was a vet: I saw the Angels at the Entertainment Centre when I was 15, along with my girlfriend, my best friend, and my 12 year old brother, who achieved somewhat legendary status amongst my friends by virtue of falling asleep in the middle of the concert.

What's all this got to do with anything? Well, Aiden is 15.

Up until the middle of last week, he was going to see The Foo Fighters in concert last night. He had two tickets. Things happened. Upshot: no tickets.

The concert was last night. Aiden's first concert (okay, we won't mention the free Vanessa Amorosi concert in the mall that his Mum took him to a few years back, or the Mentals concert earlier this year where he spent the entire time roaming the playground with mates. This was his first real 8000-of-us-all-together-in-a-giant-mosh-pit-in-a-whopping-great-stadium-with-the-smoke-and-the-light-show-and-the-support-bands-and-all-the-trimmings proper damn concert) and now he was going to miss out.

Fuck that.

The concert was sold out. I mean, duh, how long before a band this size comes back to Perth? I missed Pink Floyd in '87 and they never came back. Madonna's been once, and never again. Paul McCartney's been once. Pearl Jam came on the back of their first album and then it was something like 15 years before they returned. Hell, even They Might Be Giants haven't been back in over 6 years (Are you listening, John? John? Johns? Fellas?) We're talking, potentially, once in a lifetime.

The ticket agency couldn't help. Lyn's brother Raymond used to work in venue security. Did he know anyone? Unfortunately, no. Lyn's best friend's daughter had mentioned a spare ticket a while back! Sold it. One by one, the possibilities dried up.

3pm, the day of the concert, a workmate turns to me: they might have a spare ticket. You still need one? Oh God, yes. Give her an hour, she'll see what's happening and call me. An hour later, she calls: no luck. The spare ticket has been promised to someone else after all. I'm disappointed, but grateful she tried. That's it, really. I'm dry. Out of leads. Stick a fork in me and all that...

Lyn's been trawling Ebay for some funky PJs for Connor. As a last resort, she decides to check for Foo Fighters tickets.

4.50pm. 2 hours before the concert starts, she finds one. 30 minutes drive away. Fuck me.

Aiden has it in his hands 45 minutes later. A couple whose babysitting options fell through that morning. It's been on Ebay all day, 15 bucks cheaper than cost. Not a single bid, until us.

Is that providence, or what?

We were at the concert with 20 minutes to spare.

Was Aiden happy? Did he actually sing "I've got a golden ticket" as we drove up? :)

Aiden rocked out, and I sat in the Burswood Resort food hall for three hours: worked on some AHWA mentorship stuff, read from Sabine Baring-Gould's The Book of Werewolves, and watched Newcastle down Sunderland 2-0 (shitbuggerbuggershit. Not that I care about Sunderland, but I have a triple digit IQ so I'm not allowed to be a Newcastle fan...).

Aiden left the concert half-deaf, clad in a tour t-shirt, and though he will refuse to admit it, fell asleep in the car on the way home. Yes. He was happy.

Engage smug mode....... smug mode engaged.

SOMETHING I LEARNED OVER THE WEEKEND

Give your six year old daughter a fish, and she'll eat for a day. Teach her to play fish, and she'll hand your arse back to you every goddamn time you play!

COKESPRAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYY.......................... NOW

Your Slogan Should Be

Lee. As Delicate as a Caress.

The Slogan Generator

VILLAGE OF PERVERTS

Battersby, line-editing. Thinks:

Hmmm. Given that their houses are burning down, I’m pretty sure this line should read ‘the sound of screaming villagers’, not ‘the sound of creaming villagers’.

Wonder what was going on in my subconscious when I was writing that sentence……

YOWSER

Congratulations, sir/madam, you are the 60,000th person to visit this blog.

Thanks for reading everyone. Hope you're enjoying it so far.

Stay tuned for...... well, stuff, mostly. And things and junk. The usual :)

DEEPLY DIGGING DEXTER

So first, at the behest of Lily Chrywenstrom, we rented and watched Season one of Dexter. Twelve hour-long episodes. It took us three days.

Before the viewing had finished, I found myself in the bookstore, with enough money to buy either of the two volumes they possessed- Darkly Dreaming Dexter, the first in the series, around which the TV show was based, and which, therefore, (I thought) would hold few suprises; or Dexter In The Dark, the third in the series. What the hell: I lumped for the first.

That took a day and a half.

Now I'm skint, and it's not pay day until Thursday.

Sunuvabitch.......

THIS WEEKEND

No kids.
No jobs.
No duties.

The rest of Season 1 of Dexter.
Season 2 of Life on Mars.
The rest of Season 2 of Deadwood
The rest of Season 2 of Torchwood
Season 4, episode 1 of Dr Who

Don’t phone.

OH, THIS GROWING UP THING GETS TO ME SOMETIMES

This afternoon, I am taking my daughter to her first disco, where she openly hopes to be able to dance to the cool song she and her classmates have been learning in music.

That song is Agadoo.

This is all becoming very weird.

SSSHHH: DON’T TELL ANYONE, BUT……

I’ve had the idea, and now all I need to do is fill in the gaps.

Father Muerte And The Child.

NAMED! or WE KNOW WHAT YOU SAID LAST SUMMER....

BECAUSE OF LILY CHRYWENSTROM

5 episodes in, we’re hooked on Dexter.

There just aren’t enough serial killer romantic comedy-drama police procedural biopics, in my opinion…

FAR TOO LATE, SAYING YEAH, BUT! TO STEPHEN DEDMAN, A POST FOR THE PURPOSES OF...

Stephen Dedman is an extremely good friend of mine. But there are occasions, usually during conventions, and usually when we’re discussing television, when he is apt to cry out “Don’t you like anything?” in response to my dislike of shows that all about me are gushing over in admiration (Buffy, Angel, Babylon 5, whatever SF show is flavour of the month this Con… hey, I remember all those conversations about Dark Angel…).

Which always strikes me as odd, because I go home to my cabinet full of DVDs and my ongoing complaints that we watch too much TV, and the two things do not compute. Until this year’s Swancon, when it was made clear to me just how little I fit in with Perth fandom, and moreover, how little I was welcome.

So, in an effort to set Stephen’s mind at rest, and give him something else to feel exasperated at me about, a partial list of the TV I do enjoy, outside of the individual documentaries that make up most of my watching habit:

Battlestar Galactica v2
Blake’s Seven
Deadwood
Dexter
Garden Invaders
Invader Zim
Life on Mars
Matt James’ Eco Edens
Most Evil
Mystery Science Theatre 3000
Original run Dr Who
Red Dwarf seasons 1-6
Spaced
The Brak Show
The City Gardener
The Fairly Odd-Parents
The Grim Adventures of Billy & Mandy
The Prisoner
The Venture Brothers
Time Team
Torchwood

All of which proves... something, I'm sure...

A BOOK FROM BALL

One of the most exciting emails I can receive from a friend is one that says simply “What’s your snail mail address?”: Grant Watson sent me one in the middle of an argument about David Bowie, and introduced me to his late-career electronica work via a hand-made ‘best of’ CD; Paul Haines did the same while we were both grokking our love for Thomas Dolby, and sent me a DVDs-worth of Dolby albums, film clips, and ephemera (including my first taste of the glorious Richard Cheese); and a few days back, after reading our blogs, Clarionite, insane genius, and the author of the best unicorn porn story I’ve ever read, (picture me, on my hands and knees with two other guys in a cramped student living room, index fingers pointing outwards from our foreheads, discussing bone density and the relative physics of stabbing versus charging…) Peter Ball did the same.

Yesterday, with a postcard tucked into it explaining that, as far as Peter is concerned, random bookness is one of the best potential cures for depression, we received a copy of The Nimrod Flip-Out by Israeli author Etgar Keret.

And what do you know? He’s right. It's not the package, of course, but the thought behind it. But seriously, random packages (by which I don't mean male gymnasts, oo-er!), how cool can you get?

JULIET, JASONI, AND NICKY WHOSE NAME REALLY SHOULD BEGIN WITH A J TO MAKE THIS TITLE A LOT SNAPPIER

Such incisive and caring correspondences. Such heartfelt and involving glimpses into their own lives. Such trust, and companionship, and freely offer vows of friendship. Such reaffirming statements of respect and amity.

Our thanks.

CHARLTON HESTON DIES PEACEFULLY AT HOME. MILLIONS OF IRONY LOVERS SADDENED THAT NOBODY TRIES TO PRISE GUN FROM HIS COLD, DEAD HANDS

Oh, Charltie, how you conflicted me. Loathed you for your untra-conservative, gun-totin' moronicism, but God, you were one hell of an actor in your time (Anyone who doubts me, check out his performance as the Player King in Branagh's Hamlet). Hopefully, hopefully, in time, people will forget the stupidity, and the movies will remain.

This is where I found the story

FACES OF EVIL

There’s been a strange confluence of interest in the Batthouse lately: Aiden and Blake have become fans of the old Universal horror movies, particularly the works of Boris Karloff, at the same time as I’ve become immersed in the reading of two very similar books— Bind, Torture, Kill: The Inside Story of the Serial Killer Next Door by Wenzl, Potter, Kelly & Laviana; and Happy Like Murderers: The True Story of Fred & Rosemary West by Gordon Burn . In my case, this isn’t new—serial killers have always held a fascination for me. But for the boys, those great old black and white movies are new ground, and they’re swallowing them as fast as they can be presented. Aiden, in particular, is Karloff-Boy: has the t-shirt, has the DVDs, only a matter of time before the action figure arrives….

But it’s set me a-thinking.

I’ve always been interested in the argument that one of the most disturbing aspects of the Nazis was their ability to bureaucratise evil—to turn the slaughter and dehumanisation of human beings into a mundane, even boring, act of civil administration. Yet it strikes me, comparing the contrasting images flittering across my evenings, that evil has always been mundane: that what we seek in horror movies is not the safe thrill of the cinema scare, but the reinforcement that evil can be easily recognised, that it stands out in such a way that we brave and noble (and more importantly, perhaps, normal) types can readily raise our torches and pitchforks and see it off. If it bleeds, we can kill it. But only if we recognise its otherness first.

Vampires are scary. Dinosaurs are scary. Monsters are scary. But the church leader, the builder, the landlord? Too much like us, too reflective a mirror. Too normal. Humanity, we’re told, has evolved past the point of micro-tribalism. We’re no longer helpless prey to be hunted down by animals bigger, stronger, and better equipped. It’s easy to band together in the face of an readily-identified monster. Easier still when the identifying marks cannot be hidden behind a smile and the living room curtains.

But be honest:

Look closely

Which ones can you name?

Which ones scare you more?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND WE'RE BACK

We have interwebbie access at home. You may now email your threats and hatred directly to the source.

Brandy deliveries, as always, are round the back.

PATIENCE, GRASSHOPPER

According to Westnet, yesterday's welcome-to-the-run-up-to-winter thunderstorms knocked out our local server, and they've no idea when it will be back on line. So, as I only have net access at work for the moment, and as that access blocks gmail so I have no email, those of you awaiting replies to hate mail will have to wait a short while longer.

On the bright side... umm...

A GOOD CAUSE, WITH A DAMN FINE NAME

If you're a fan of my writing, and want to contribute to a damn fine cause, you could do worse than drop a buck or two in this direction.

DECISION

I've been away.

In the wake of this year's Swancon, I received a couple of emails. No need to go into the minutiae, but they were, shall we say, detailed. In addition, Lyn suffered the indignity of being upbraided by a fan type at a recent social occasion, who felt they needed to belittle her for being a writer in order to puff up their own sense of self-importance. It was hurtful, and humiliating, and frankly, the last straw.

I needed a few days away from the world to reassess.

So here's the thing: I'm not doing Swancon, or any other Western Australian conventions, any more. I'm not doing any of the social events that surround them. I love writing, and though it is occasionally problematic, I really enjoy blogging. I enjoy the correspondences I keep with friends and like-minded people who contact me. So I'm going to keep to those.

Many thanks to those who contacted me to ask about the absence.

SWANCON 2008

I had a long post here about Swancon. If you've got the rss feed archived you've probably still got it somewhere. I dunno: some things about the internet escape me.

Anyway, suffice to say, it's gone now. I've decided not to post it. To those who enjoyed catching up with me, my thanks. To those who didn't, I apologise. I hope everyone had a great time.

NOT LONG NOW

Erin arrives back in Perth tomorrow night, and will be back home by Monday afternoon. It’s about time: we’ve missed her so much it hurts, and we can’t wait to hug her and tell her how much we love her. And listen to all her stories (we know already that she’s seen live kiwis and danced with Maori pois), and see the photos, and look at the pictures she’s drawn, and read her holiday diary, and hug her again, and……

She’s been gone too long.

Find out here

BEN AND JASON SITTING IN A TREE, WONDERING HOW THE HELL THEY GOT UP THERE…

Everybody take a good look at Ben Szumskyj and Jason Crowe. See their noble bearing. Note the fire in their eyes; the strength inherent in their upright spines; the deep and mellifluous timbre of their voices. Watch as they stride across the cultural landscape like Gods amongst men, these colossi, these walking odes to the virility and dynamism of Man.

Now, come back in three months and see what wizened, Gollum-like creatures they have become after submitting their work to my tender mercies as part of this year’s AHWA Mentorship scheme.

Okay, so they’re actually extremely personable and articulate lads with whom I’ve already enjoyed spirited and intelligent correspondences, and who are already displaying the necessary humility, eagerness to learn, and critical thinking that will serve them well in their careers. But it’s much more fun to describe them this way, don’t you think? :)


ERIN AWAY TO NZ

Lucky lucky lucky jammy jammy lucky jammy lucky lucky lucky…..

As of last Friday night, we’re Erin-less for two weeks. Her Nanna has whisked her away on a once-in-a-lifetime-knowing-our-finances-and-chances-of-doing-it trip to New Zealand, where she’ll spend her time meeting the maternal branch of her birth-mother’s family, discovering snow, riding kiwis, wrestling hobbits, and losing cricket matches. We’ve equipped her with an enormous scrapbook and a mandate to fill it with as many drawings, pressed flowers, feather, snapshots and the like as she can, and we’ve been promised regular email updates.

We saw her off at the airport Friday night. The two weeks prior to the trip, it had been her only topic of conversation, and we’d made a ritual of crossing off the days on her special calendar, pinned to the fridge. At the airport itself, she was just about uncontrollable with excitement, literally unable to sit down: running around in circles; chattering non-stop to favourite doll Janice about the plane and what movies they’ll see on the plane and the special dinenr they’ll eat on the plane and how they’re going to fly up in the sky on the plane; jumping up and down and asking “how long now” every time she paused for breath…... Right up until it was time to leave us and walk through the departure gate, when suddenly she burst into tears and flung herself into Lyn’s arms.

She cried, I cried, Lyn cried, Connor asked for a drink of juice…… and then she was gone, waving to us as she walked hand-in-hand with Nanna through the gate and onto the plane.

She’s having the time of her life, I know, safe within a circle of relatives who will treat her as the special treasure she is. But I miss her like hell.

CONNING ON

Lyn, Aiden, Blake, and I are off to Swancon next weekend, along with the vast majority of the Western Australian SF community. Lots to do, lots to see, and no money to buy anything with (sigh), but at least I’ll be on some interesting panels.

If you really can’t get enough of my dulcet tones, you can catch me at the following times and locations:

Flash Fiction
Lee Battersby, Martin Livings, Zara Baxter
Friday 10am
When does it work? Why does it so often fail? Why is it so popular? Why do people have such strong feelings about it? Should it have its own awards? Is it a dumping ground for ideas that fail to develop? Or is it simply the perfect form of fiction for an era of multi-tasking and short attention spans?

Horror: The State of the Art
Lee Battersby, Stephen Dedman, Shane Jiraiya Cummings
Sunday 12pm
Where exactly is the Australian horror scene today? Some commentators have pointed to a recent resurgence in the field- is this the sign of more growth to come, or a momentary swell of interest before audience return to reading other genres? What is it that Australian horror has to offer that other nations can’t? An incisive look into one of Australia’s most promising- and oftentimes most neglected- genres.

Critiquing: How Much Feedback is Too Much?
Lee Battersby, Juliet Marillier, Robert Hoge, Satima Flavell Neist
Sunday 5pm
Writer’s Groups (face to face online), manuscript assessment services, mentoring- will they help you to write better? Or will they hurt your confidence, or waste your time?

Dr Who and the Big Finish
Lee Battersby, Stephen Dedman, Rob Shearman, Ian Mond
Monday 11am
Big Finish are a notable producer of Doctor Who audio plays and other media. What is it like working with them? How have things changed with the new series? How does fandom feel about their take on Doctor who? What about their work based on other cult SF properties?

You Gotta Make Way for the Homo Superior
Lee Battersby, Lyn Battersby, Tom Eitelhuber
Monday 11am
David Bowie’s name is synonymous with many trends: rock, art, androgyny, the reinvention of the self. And, of course, science fiction. This panel will look at ways in which Bowie’s music has influenced the culture of the 20/21st centuries. Which writers have been inspired by his lyrics? Who inspired him first?

Keen-eyed observers will note that I appear to be in two places at once on Monday. I’ve notified the programmer, and hopefully by the time we’re all at the Con it’ll be sorted: I don’t want to miss out on either panel, so fingers crossed for some expert tweaking of time and place. I’ll also be presenting an award at Sunday Night’s award ceremonies, so I’ll be enjoying getting frocked up and getting on stage.

PUSHING TIN

On the subject of which (oh, how smooth was that?), the traditional longest-shortlist-in-the-world, the WA SF ‘Tin Duck’ Achievement Awards have been released. You can see the full list here. I’ve several stories up for consideration, so if you enjoyed any of the following during the year, consider giving them a nod:

Father Muerte & The Joy of Warfare (Aurealis 37)
The Time Eater (Dr Who: Destination Prague)
Beached (Daikaiju III)

You’ll also find Lyn’s story Born of Woman, from Daikaiju II on the list. Easily the best flash fiction piece published last year by an Australian, imho, it’s well worth consideration.

THIS SHOULD NEED NO EXPLANATION

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And while I'm at it, explosions of happy congratulations for the merely magnificent MoonSeanie, for receiving news that should totally fuck up all his cred for the rest of his life :)

Just remember, I knew him before he went electric.