Unbelievable. I took the camera but didn’t even think to get it out. And I was damn sober the whole time. No excuse really, unless the bright flashy lights and the spectacle of the show dashed my brains against my skull. And there was nothing terribly incriminating - at least while I was still upright - that really warranted spreading photos on the net.

Ah well. It was definitely worth the effort. I might have swum around the event with rookie’s eyeballs, but who cares? I had a great time. The thing that surprised me most of all was how many friendly faces there were in the foyer, even sans the Orbiteer gang (fye on you lot!). Considering that I didn’t know anyone in the spec fic community until May last year, seven months on it was really really cool to feel part of this caring and nuturing bunch of loons.

The awards ceremony itself was more interesting than I had expected (dreadful humour though), and a sellout at that. Some very erudite comments from a number of industry heavyweights, but I think Rob Serdiuk’s words regarding the meaning of the Awards themselves really punched home why they should be supported. Can’t for the life of me remember exactly what those words were and I’d hate to misquote him, so hopefully the organisers will put up a transcript of the various speeches. I’ll track’em down if I can. 

Anyway, congratulations to the winners, of which a complete list can be found here.

Also interesting was the annoucement that Fantastic Queensland will end their reign as organisers of the event after next year, opening up the position to others keen to take on the mantle. Yes, NSW Writer’s Centre, I’m looking at you…

As for the knee’s-up in the foyer afterwards, it was just a really wonderful chance to catch up with a bunch of likeminded folk. I didn’t stay for all the shennanigans as I was still pretty rough from the day before, but hopefully put on a good enough show. I did get some really encouraging advice which is excellent, just need to be disciplined and focused and not waste the opportunity I have. So a bit less blogging and more writing from now till the May deadline.

I think the only real disappointment with the night was the number of winners who weren’t there to receive their awards. Of the 14 awards handed out, six or seven were accepted by proxies. I just felt that it undermined some of the signficance of the night, and of the genre - if you can’t be bothered to rock up to be acknowledged by your peers, how can you expect the general public to acknowledge you? I’m totally sure there are a number of very good reasons for the absences, and none of the finalists knew if they were gonna win or not so the effort and the expense was a gamble purely from a “being there to receive the loot” point of view but still, 50% seemed like a shame. I don’t know if that’s fairly typical of these kind of events or not, but it just struck me as a bit casual. The only real blemish on an otherwise great night.

Anyway, hats of to everyone involved in putting the show together, I had a blast and I hope to be there next year!

Jeremy

PS. Business Cards Delivered: 5
1 to a friend who placed it close to her heart
1 to an author friend of that friend
1 to an editor friend of that friend
1 to the taxi driver
1 to the lovely dame beside me on the flight 

37 degrees on the tarmac while taking off from Sydney this morning, which I gratefully exchanged for the blessed relief of 32 degrees at Brisbane. Like jumping out of one sweaty post-football sock and into another one. Chuck in two days and nights spent wrapped around the great white bowl, courtesy of some dodgy chicken on Thursday, and I’m sweating out everything my nutrient-deprived body is screaming for. At least I had nothing to bring up on the flight up. Bumpy.

Why share all this? Cause tonight’s my first night as a tagalong at the Aurealis Awards, of which I’ve heard many things, and as an aspiring writer of good breeding and astute purpose I had intended to prove the quality of my work by holding my own at the bar. But right now I can barely hold down anything, let alone a stiff drink, so I fear that my reputation as a writer of quality is already at risk. I look wan and sickly, as though I haven’t see enough sun for decades, I’m clammy and nervous, worried sick that I’ll be sick. 

Actually I might fit right in.

Hats of to the Brisbane Goths though, who were out in full force at the mall in town, dressed to the elevens despite the heat. That never-say-die anzac spirit personified. Me? I’m cooling my tookus in the hotel room, down to the boxers with the aircon set to 18 degrees, though it still feels a hellavua lot warmer…

…and this is why I like the cold. No matter how hot things get, you can only take so much off and get away with it. But no matter how cold things get, you can always put more on. 

I hope to provide a sober account of the night. With clothes.

Jeremy

That’s what most of my friends have said when I’ve told them that we are moving to New Zealand. Middle Earth wouldn’t be too bad, if you had a thing for pipeweed and hairy feet (which I do) and didn’t have a thing against orcs and dwarves (which I don’t) but we settled on Dunedin in the South Island instead. I’m pretty sure Sauron doesn’t have designs on Dunedin.

Sixteen days to go. Most of our worldly possessions are now in rusty containers in ships on the high seas, and we’re in the thick of farewell fever, which is getting a bit hard on the heart. Still it’s only 3 hours away (closer than Perth!) but it’s gonna be tough, especially taking the Little Guy away his grandparents. We will be raking in the Frequent Flyer Points.

So why do it? Living the life we want to live is the simplest explanation. I really wanted to free up more time to spend with the wife and kid and make time for more writing, Ness wanted more time with her son and to pursue an artistic career. Where we were in the Inner West of Sydney we had a pretty nice flat but a hefty mortgage, and we couldn’t have another little one, or let me work less and write more, or let Ness pursue her artistic dreams without failing to meet our commitments. So we knew we had to have that lifechange, in order to live the lives we wanted to live. That plus the floorboards were ridiculously thin, and the arseholes who lived there loved to play the worst music in the universe, right under our little guy’s bedroom. All night. Every night. 

So we knew we had to move, ditch the mortgage, and find a decent place for Ness to study. We’re both waaay over Sydney — it’s a fantastic place to wallow if you’re wealthy, but we’re not. So we started searching further afield. And after much searching it came down to Blue Mountains west of Sydney — or Dunedin. Read more »

Click here to see the full map.

How to trash a continent:

1) Find a good map.
2) Raise the sea level til the map looks cool.
3) Drop a few nuclear explosions on key urban centres.
4) Rename what’s left with puns if possible.

and voila! instant post-holocaust australia!

Had a lot of fun doing this… it was inspired by an ancient RPG called After the Bomb, where mutant animals take over the world. The Australian supplement “Mutants Down Under” had this really lameo map in it, and I’ve always wanted to have a crack at doing it better. 

And the cool thing was that I actually learned a fair bit more about Oz while researching it. There really is an independent free state in Western Australia called the Hutt River Province that managed to get the thumbs up from the Queen… and there were plans to make a separate state named Auralia for a while. Lots of nifty little bits of knowledge like that… why I like writing historical fiction too, you just keep stumbling over strange little stories and incidents. 

Jeremy

It was recently pointed out to me that for blog that’s also about illustration I seem to have a rather small collection of piccies — namely none.

No more! Over the next few weeks I’ll comb through the flaking temples of my portfolio and see what falls out. Here’s some old stuff to start. Hope you like ‘em!

Xeowolfe © 2006 Avery Axton

Xeowolfe is a philosophical little space adventure series by my mentat brother. First time I’ve ever work completely in Photoshop, although I am a big fan of using textures, especially from the generous folks over at Mayang.com. There was supposed to be a big tentacular greeblie on the receiving end of that blast but the critter just wasn’t coming out right. Still I like it.

The Fates © 2005

The Fates is some concept art for a space opera tv series some mates of mine were pitching on. It was a really good story, George… anyway it began as a detailed sketch and ended up coloured in Photoshop. The eyes have it.

Malignicant © 2004

Malignicant is a funny little sketch… it was done while working for the highest paid Australian director to never make a film, as part of a concept for a snake warrior monster thing, but was waaaay outside the parameters of the brief. But he saw it in my sketch book, said he loved it, and thought it would make a fine snake warrior king for his film. I dropped contact with him about a day or two later, and never found out exactly where I stood with him about ownership of the concept. So if you ever see this guy up on the big screen let me know….

Jeremy

Great name for an old black and white war film I saw as a kid but also entirely relevant as I’m going on a writer’s retreat this weekend. Actually “Retreat? Hell Yeah!” would have been better. Nine aspiring writerly types have submitted one short short story and one long short story to be scrutinized by Terry Dowling, Cat Sparks, and Rob Hood for a couple of nights and daze up at Leura in the Blue Mountains. And the best thing about it, apart from the opportunity to spend time in the company of likeminded loons, drink fine wine and discuss writing, writing and more writing? I was forced to pop the cork, shatter the seal and drown this goddamn word drought that’s been plaguing me these last six months. The words have begun to flow….

… and flow… 

… and flow…

And I can’t tell you how good that is. Well I could, but I’m too busy writing again.

I had hoped to submit two new pieces, but time constraints forced me to go with a new short work Fat of the Land and with the first act of Grimshaw : The Binding Passage. Which is a good thing anyway as I been nibbling away at the edges of Gimshaw for some time, and now I’m gonna bite off more than I can chew again. I’ve got till May next year to have the manuscript super shiny, and this retreat is gonna be great for getting me back into it.

So yeah. Coolness. 

Jeremy

I had a mentor once, a long time ago.

I’m not one for mentors, I’ve always tended to make my own mistakes and learn from them - eventually. But right now I’d give at least an elbow for one.

My old mentor, lovely man, had such a positive effect on my writing, really lifting my game. His advice wasn’t free, nor should it be, but he was worth every penny. And right now I wish I could get him back. It was a professional friendship, and he opened my eyes in so many ways, but it’s not to be.

The reason why I pine for him, or for someone to fill his rather sparkly shoes, is that I currently face the daunting task of rewriting my Grimshaw manuscript, and the edits required are so extensive that it’s akin to writing an entirely new novel. Sure the themes will remain the same, as will certain scenes and some characters, but it took writing the first draft for me to finally understand the central character. Thus far he was the victim of a story, battered by the plot and beaten by the themes… but now that I have a better understanding of who he is, his life, his experiences, his personality, and his purpose, he is an entirely different man to the one I originally thrust into the limeylight. The changes he has undergone in my mind are so vast that I am quite tempted to rename him entirely to sever any connection to his first incarnation.

And here’s the crux of the matter: a writer’s peers, aspiring writing groups and like-minded friends will always support the writer, even if he’s making a grave mistake. Sure they’ll be as honest as they can; but they cannot bring years of experience and training and professional acumen to inform their advice, to guide the writer and propel the writer into achieve new levels of ability.

If you can find a mentor who you trust and you have a connection with, treasure them: they’re worth their weight in words.

Jeremy

Is what this blog needs. Anything to get it back up and running.

So, having salivated heavily on the monitor for a minute, this neglected little patch of pixels is alive once more.

‘bout bloody time….

Jeremy

Typical — the darkest discussions I’ve attended as part of the Sydney Writers’ Festival were also the funniest. First thing Saturday morning was spent listening to Australian authors Steve Toltz, Chris Wombersley, and Michael Robotham as they talked about flawed good guys and sympathetic baddies in Heroes and Criminals, followed by Memory, a very frank discussion by Australian Venero Armanno and young Texan author Stefan Merrill Block on the recollections of lost friends and a family cursed by Alzheimer’s disease. I do hope that the organisers of the Festival release these discussions as podcasts, they were brilliant.

Read more »