Posts

Miss you again

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A short story B: Hey Sam. S: Hey yourself. B: I'm not stalking you - I promise. S: I know that, dumbhead. B: Geez. Now there's something I haven't heard in thirty years. S: What? B: "Dumbhead." You used to call me that back in the day. When you were mad at me. S: Or teasing you. B: Ha, ha. Indeed. So - everything good on your side? S: Yes. Mostly. And no... That's life eh? B: What's up? S: Ah - it'd take too long to explain. B: Give it a try. S: You might not be a stalker Brandon Durie but you're still a pest, you know that? Okay, in short: Graeme annoyed the crap out of me today (again). Just the usual domestic stuff: not doing his fair share of the chores. Then there's our two boys, who won't listen to a thing I say... They take after their dad, surprise, surprise. So I've locked myself in my study and told them I've got an op-ed piece to finish by tomorrow. They'll have to arrange dinner themselves. B: Will

'Receiving' intent: the art of flipping the script

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Here is an excerpt of part of my interview (from around the 59:33 min mark) with Ken Gullette on his podcast. This excerpt deals specifically with the use of "uke" - ie. "receiving", not only in the sense of receiving techniques, but also in the sense of a wider meaning of "receiving intent" in order to diffuse conflict. Enjoy! *   *   * On receiving generally - "I win if I don't get hit" KG: I encourage everyone to read your blog. Just Google The Way of Least Resistance and you have excellent articles on there. And one of your blog posts recently about the  Ronda Rousey fight  actually triggered some practices of my own with my students where we were practicing basic slipping of a punch. Bobbing and weaving leaning and things like that for just basic boxing technique. One of my goals as a fighter, if I have been in a fight (and I haven't since I was eighteen), is I don't want to get hurt. I want to avoid getting head.

My podcast interview with Ken Gullette

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I was very honoured to be a guest on veteran US television and radio journalist Ken Gullette's Chicago-based podcast show a few weeks back. The interview ranged over a wide variety of topics and ran for 90 min. I didn't expect Ken to include all of it in the podcast, but he did! And I'm even more amazed that people are still downloading it and giving me positive feedback a week later! Most seem to have listened to it on a long drive or, in at least one case, on a flight, but I had a call from Melbourne from an old friend who stayed up to 2 a.m. listening to the entire thing - which is all deeply flattering! Anyway, here it is - I hope you find at least parts of it interesting. From around the 1:00 hour mark I talk about a young man who turned up to my front door late at night armed with a knife - and how I dealt with the situation.

Writers: learn your craft!

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In the arts, writing - particularly fiction - seems to stand alone as something for which (apparently) no particular training is required. As far as the many members of the public seem to believe, it's something you can either do, or can't do. After all, most of us can "write" stuff - can't we? We all write emails, reports, notes, CVs, requests and applications... Well I hate to break it to you: that isn't the same as writing  - at least not professionally. Like any art, writing (both fiction and non-fiction) is a skill acquired over many years of dedicated study and practise. Why should it be otherwise? Writers need to learn their craft, otherwise they remain nothing but beginners. In other words, writing well does not arise solely from some "innate talent", triggered by the mere fact that you have read some (or many) novels. Nor does it matter that you have been known to pen the odd humorous missive or even short story (perhaps one that has l

Never play to the gallery

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I've written four novels , all of which are experimental, and none of which are remotely alike or fit any easy genre classification. Every book I write has been, and will be, different. Every time I write, I take a risk: I throw myself in the deep end. I never let myself get comfortable. Because it is only when you are treading water, unable to touch the bottom, that you stand a chance of doing something different, something exciting. The late, great, David Bowie put it well: never play it safe - and never play to the gallery. I refuse to play to the gallery - utterly and completely. Every fibre in my being rebels against this pressure. I don't mind if you like 'series' of books or the comfort of formula fiction - each to their own. But when I write, I want to do something different. I want the chance to do something 'original' - if that's at all possible. In particular I have copped flak for two of my more eclectic pieces - Nights of the Moon

Following fading footprints

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I was 18 when my father died. He was 48. It makes for easy arithmetic - 30 years between us, almost exactly. This year I'm 50. I'm now 2 years older than my father was when he died. And I've come to a realisation - a powerful one I can only relate via analogy. But first, some background: My father was mysterious figure for most of my childhood: a man who was just as likely to say something profound, if brief, as he was to become irritable. I learned early on to give him space. For most of my life, he was a person I feared as much as loved and respected. You see, I don't think my father knew how to be a parent largely because he had come from a broken home - torn apart by World War II and by the oppressive communist regime that followed it. He had scars - and we, his family, could feel them even if we couldn't see them - or know what they were. So my father didn't know how to "be" with children. With adults, he was the ideal companion - a raco

"Girl in the Attic" published

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"Girl in the Attic", my fourth work of fiction, has been published by Pikkeljig Press ! The blurb is as follows: Rose lives with her mother Valerie in a run-down cottage in an old part of town. Rose steals things. Valerie drinks. That's just the way it is. Whenever Rose gets caught, Valerie banishes her to the cramped, dusty attic - often for weeks at a time. Then one day Rose decides she's going to change her life: she's going to close that attic door forever. And that's exactly what she does. So why do the police suddenly want to speak with Rose again? Why does she have a shiny new watch she can't recall buying (or stealing!)? For that matter, why can't she seem to remember speaking with some people, being at various places, taking up smoking or making particular sketches and notes in her journal? And why is it that, as Rose lies awake at night with her covers pulled up to chin, she can hear something - bumps, shuffling steps and a girl'