Tyrannosaurus Becks (my 31st birthday)

My 30th birthday was a blast, lots of people came to that, and I was king of the world.

My 31st, not so much. What went wrong? I mean, apart from everything.

95% of those people have barely spoken to me since, during,tyrannosaurus-becks and I’d say because of, what has to be the most tumultuous year I’ve EVER lived through, and basically, I weathered 2016 about as well as an ice cube on a hot summer’s day. Alone.

I melted down a few times. I have been let down, rejected, disappointed, lied to, had just about everything I own break down like me (stuff I was using to chill out and cope with the sheer absurdity of the year, I should point out) and, well, I’m not saying David Bowie was holding the fabric of the universe together, but… *gestures widely at 2016*

So I canceled one birthday event that I really didn’t want to go to for multiple reasons, and had dinner with my family and best friend instead, like we haven’t done in years, and I even got a bit of writing in while I was at it (I ended up arriving in the mid-afternoon, not really planning to, just kinda winding up there early. Mum was having an event there too, I arrived about when that ended, and had about 2 hours to fill. I believe I filled those two hours adequately with writing).

And then I saw the perfect photo opportunity. I grabbed a blow-up T-Rex from the couch set up in the beer garden for something (FRIENDS trivia, I believe it was) and put it opposite me, took this, and smiled.

I call this… Tyrannosaurus Becks.

Dinner was great, too.

I’ve since smashed some personal goals that weren’t getting anywhere all year with everything going wrong, and I’ve been able to relax properly due to eliminating some stupid wtf drama from my life. I’ve finally rearranged my DVD shelf, bookshelf is next, and I’ve discovered some awesome things lately that help deal with what is, just about objectively, a shitty year. And I’ve taken to taking photos wherever opportunities present themselves, because of how much I regret not taking the one of the after-effects of the night I painted my face like David Bowie, and it ran like mascara due to sweat, water, and honest-to-god tears. But that was a dark part of my life I don’t want to relive.

So here’s to good times.

Some books I want to check out

While searching a bookstore in the chain of which my friend (I’ll call her M) recommended. That book is The Fifth Season, and I trust her recommendations. She’s damn good at it, and seriously, her sci fi/fantasy section is the best-looked-after shelf section of any branch of this store in Australia. And she put me onto Blood Song after The Name of the Wind, so I will take her word for it. Cause she has steered me right 100% of the time so far. Okay, that was one time, but she’s passionate about the things I am, and she’s awesome and wonderful and lovely and manages a bookstore too.

Anyway, here’s a list of books I want to get some time soon, and why (ie the blurbs). These are not reviews, just a wishlist really. Downloaded samples, going to see what they’re like and update as I finish those samples and see if I want to read more.


A City Dreaming by Daniel Polanski

M is a drifter with a sharp tongue, few scruples, and limited magical ability, who would prefer drinking artisanal beer to involving himself in the politics of the city. Alas, in the infinite nexus of the universe which is New York, trouble is a hard thing to avoid, and now a rivalry between the city’s two queens threatens to make the Big Apple go the way of Atlantis. To stop it, M will have to call in every favor, waste every charm, and blow every spell he’s ever acquired – he might even have to get out of bed before noon.

Enter a world of wall street wolves, slumming scenesters, desperate artists, drug-induced divinities, pocket steam-punk universes, and hipster zombies. Because the city never sleeps, but is always dreaming.


Elektrograd: Rusted Blood by Warren Ellis

ELEKTROGRAD is the city of the future. Since the early 20th Century, it has been used as a testbed for futuristic modes of living. Each of its seven districts is an experimental site for new forms of architecture.

It is now the early 21st Century. Elektrograd is showing its age.

Mekanoplatz is the northernmost district of Elektrograd. And, on the district border, within site of the old construction robots with homeless people sheltering in their rusting carcasses, under the green flingers reaching their tentacles to the edge of space, and in the shadow of the hall where the shape of the future was first revealed in sparks and fire, there is a dead body.

ELEKTROGRAD: RUSTED BLOOD is a murder mystery in a strange dream of a city, from the NYT-bestselling author of the crime novel GUN MACHINE and the graphic novels TRANSMETROPOLITAN, PLANETARY and RED.


I hope they have chainsaw bayonets…



The Emperor’s Railroad by Guy Haley

Global war devastated the environment, a zombie-like plague wiped out much of humanity, and civilization as we once understood it came to a standstill. But that was a thousand years ago, and the world is now a very different place.

Conflict between city states is constant, superstition is rife, and machine relics, mutant creatures and resurrected prehistoric beasts trouble the land. Watching over all are the silent Dreaming Cities. Homes of the angels, bastion outposts of heaven on Earth. Or so the church claims. Very few go in, and nobody ever comes out.

Until now…


“Haley serves up equal helpings of horror, fantasy adventure, and SF in this stark, intriguing story of a ruined Earth where the remaining humans are determined to survive.” – Publishers Weekly

“Entertaining and exciting… If grim-dark is your thing, then this is a great read for you.” – Bull-Spec

At the Publisher’s request, this title is being sold without Digital Rights Management Software (DRM) applied.


So that’s what’s currently on my waiting list for the TBR pile.

Primer for having an epic weekend

Instructions for an epic weekend: Step one: get haircut for dinner with a girl. Step two: feel bummed it doesn’t go through, but no hard feelings, because it’s a legit reason. Step three: finish some editing. Step four: learn mentor died this week. Step five: have a whiskey in his honour at my local. Step six: be impressed with the new singer, who is not in fact three middle-aged dudes who always sing the same songs and are alright, but not a blonde bombshell in a burgundy dress that would definitely blow Marylin Monroe style with that floor-fan on her if not for the sensible choice in dress design. Step seven: meet chick who likes air guitar and her friend, a dude who loves your favourite book, when you can’t get ANYONE to read the damn thing, despite it being one of the most successful books in the genre of recent times. Step eight: add a new mate to friend list. Step nine: go to party Saturday, do jello shots, meet people, play hilarious 48 hour challenge game, have good time. Step ten: go to writing group for final time this year, which has been pretty much prevented all but once, maybe twice, all year by the sheer fact that this is the year we’re praying a meteor hits us. Step eleven: laugh with the entire group about how much sexual innuendo is in this one piece. Step twelve: have a good lunch with a bunch of good people. Step thirteen: politely reject a special offer from an Asian hairdresser in the mall. Step fourteen: politely reject a “special offer” from said “hairdresser”. Note that later that night, at a regularly scheduled event, a nice girl you know but haven’t spoken to in forever says your hair looks good. Remember you got a haircut this week. Step fifteen: sleep. So much sleep.

Something emerges from its dark cave…

…and it’s not Michael Buble in time for Christmas.

No. It’s much, much, MUCH… worse? (and by worse I mean better. I think.)


That there would be Darkest Depths, something that was *supposed* be to published way back in like, June. But 2016 has screwed everyone I know in so many ways, so yeah. Delays, man.

Go forth and read!

Children of the Sun – review (play)

Review by Daniel Ferguson for Children of the Sun 

Performed at QUT Creative Industries, Thurs 20/10/1026

Directed by Anna Doust, originally written by Jill Webster

Starring Kat Johnman as Jenny, Kara Fisher as Anna, Joshua Bell-McNee as Nathan and Rebekah Williams as Alena.

“All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” ― Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

*Disclaimer: I personally know the director and the event was free of charge. These factors did not influence my review.

Walking into the foyer, not knowing what I was even coming to see, and having not seen my friend in over a year in person (though knowing she was studying theatre, and sharing common book interests), I was unsure what to expect. But since I had the day free, and the tickets didn’t cost anything, I figured why not. Gotta be better than TransRoboTerminAlien Joe: Reboot Day 2, right? (actually, if that were a real title…)

Children of the Sun was an end-of-semester showcase student play that I only heard about last night (this review having been written on the lawn, beneath a tree, with a pizza next to me… Ah, that takes me back!) when a wild status update appeared on my feed. Seems a friend from Uni was directing a play now, and there were free tickets still available.

Since I wasn’t doing anything anyway, and I hadn’t seen her in person in a year or maybe two – okay, may as well.

Short version: two teenagers are being lured into a cult by a snake of a woman who promises love and light and great sensations and popularity (but you’re not allowed meat, and you have to pray every day at set times) but their mother disagrees with their poor decisions (while unsuccessfully hiding a Harley Davidson tattoo).

The longer version: The play centres on Anna (the character, not the director… I hope) played by Fisher, and her brother Nathan (Bell McNee) (I know a guy named Nathan, he’s like a brother to me), being lured into a cult of happiness and light and warmth (heh) who worship a god (they always have a god, and they’re always zealous af) and they don’t eat meat (so they’re also level five vegans) by the sizzling siren Alena (Williams) who’s business-woman attitude towards the pleasures of this cult make for some ahem interesting lines, particularly when she’s seducing Nathan (ie “It works better if you lie on the couch… Move your arm… Place your hand there… Feel the warmth…”) Awkward but raucous laughter ensued.

Anna, who is much more normal and relatable in appearance, dress and personality, is lured in by Alena’s (equal opportunity) siren call with the promise of community, fitting in, perfect life and love and truth… and manipulative demands.

Anna’s brother Nathan is similarly lured in, seeing as he shows all the classic signs of drug addiction (the eyes, man…).

The mother, Jenny (Johnman) desperate to keep her family together (the father isn’t around, spoiler alert) pleads with Anna to stay, even resorting to using her “soul name” (something spiritual-sounding, Raina I think?) at points.

The mother, I noticed, had a Harley Davidson tattoo on under her shawl (I’m told it’s real).

There was a closet in the middle of the stage (I’m not saying whether it opened or not, that would be spoiling), and there were two kitchen chairs, a couch, and a doorway. Connecting all of these, from the closet out to every piece of furniture, were streamers, and some people the row behind me were discussing what those meant and represented and all that symbolic stuff.

Having just been watching Firefly this week, and seeing the one where the hill folk kidnap Simon and River Tam, but right beforehand River is dancing with the folk there under a literal maypole, I thought of the outdoor dance floor… though there’s a polar opposite tone going on to that particular scene. This maypole is the closet and the closet has a skeleton and that skeleton is drugs and seductive lies and vulnerability. So the streamers represent a few things, really. Though, not knowing anything about it going in, I was thinking more like when a detective in a movie is connecting everything with strings on a cork board and gets told to turn in his badge and his gun because he’s officially lost it. Which, come to think of it, isn’t too dissimilar in symbolism. Every time I see that sort of thing, I think of that night Homer Simpson recalled scattered events of the night before, and he was frolicking around the pole with some scantily clad nymphs in black and white “silent film” style, and then he woke up in the gutter or on the couch having passed out from too much Duff beer. Make your own comparisons, I guess.

I’m not really an expert from any formal study (unless you count TvTropes), as A) while there’s techniques and craft, it does also come down to ability to deliver lines spot-on, or improvise well, and also to access emotion and use it to best effect. I haven’t studied the art and craft of it, but I am a writer, so I’m essentially a drama queen by proxy. (And I’ve seen Team America.)

And, when you see great acting, you know it. The actress who plays Alena is definitely going to go places. Not if, but when. Anna’s actress by comparison was convincing as a normal-ish teenage girl, ordinary and feeling down in the dumps and vulnerable to the whole “love and belonging” message the cult were pushing. I’ve been there myself, to some degree, and I definitely feel like that in my darkest moments. Her character evoked some real sympathy in me.

The mother, Jenny, struggles to keep the family together and functioning when the daughter is joining a cult and the son is on drugs; and being seduced much more sexually – this was an equal-opportunity seductress, of course – by Alena doesn’t really help mum’s position either. Same sympathy with Nathan, and his drug issues.

The closet… I’m not sure if that was to symbolise Nathan being gay, as such, but there was something he wasn’t telling anyone, so it was more a secrets-in-general kind of thing, as I saw it. His time on the couch with Alena was the kind of double meaning and innuendo that everyone in the audience got, laughed about, and knows that the person next to them is laughing for the same reasons you are – and not going to admit, in polite company at least, that they’ve seen that one before. Then you laugh because it’s not from Game of Thrones, but from something that is a play on that title…

I’ve known a couple of single mothers in my life, and the one in this setting was like both extremes rolled into one. A biker tattoo visible just under a knitted shawl and smeared mascara give you the “this woman was one type of person, now she’s the other” vibe simply from that one bit of ink, not quite hidden under the wool. So more to the point, it was party girl gets wild, has two kids, and struggles to keep them safe because of her own mistakes. And they’ve suffered just as much.

Along comes the serpent, and instead of luring the proverbial Adam and Eve out of the garden of Eden’s innocence and care-free purity, she’s luring them into false promises of that very thing, made more powerful because real life sucks sometimes and “no one” understands. Especially when you’re 16 and have Opinions.

These are oily Promises of happiness and praying (er, preying) and togetherness, all you have to do is step through this door and sign here, here, initials here, and everything can be yours and it’s perfect and you’ll be truly loved! You can be one of us! You don’t need your birth family when you’ve got our love, which is pure and bright and true, do you?

So, what rating am I giving this? Well, not knowing everything that goes into learning acting (I didn’t do drama in school, not really, nor music) or putting on a play, I can’t say with any certainty how well it went, but as a viewer (?) I was hooked.

Based on only really knowing the writing side of things, and watching a lot of movies, I’m not sure what to give it exactly. But I felt it earned every clap, because it was enjoyable to watch, it was confronting, it was awkward in a deliberate way, it was funny, it was interesting, and it was a real challenge to cut the script down to a half hour. I don’t feel any of it was truly overacted, at least any more than live theatre has to be sometimes, because it’s not being recorded or with much in the way of special effects like CGI that movies and shows have, so with all that in mind, I feel like it did really well.

And hey, I got to go back to Uni to see it, which is something I’ve missed. Besides, do I really need to see another 80s reboot/remake/rehash/sequel that’s sub-par in every way imaginable? I needed something a little different, and I’ve already seen Magnificent Seven and Doctor Strange isn’t out for another week, so I’m glad I went to this.

I’ll definitely be hugging my mother next time I go to visit.

War paint

Okay, it’s been a LONG time since my last post, and well, I don’t really want to go into my personal life any more – people who know me know that I was stressed out by the kind of chaos that requires direct intervention by a deity or at least a trusted family doctor to allow me to sort my shit out in some way (in a nutshell) so that I could at least have *some* idea of when I have to get things sorted by – so basically… I melted down. I was so frustrated, stressed and unable to DO anything or know how long I had to do so anyway, before the term of this current living arrangement is up… that I got physically sick. Ran a fever induced by stress and fog of war, basically.

Hence, when I went to someone’s party, and there was face paint (and alcohol, and 20-and-30-something writers and journalists, and also fairy bread) I got David Bowie’s lightning bolt painted on. Glitter and all.

Which, had it not been A) a stinking hot day (seriously, I was sweating like a whore in church, just from the heat) and B) I saw some PDA and that was the last straw and I broke down and cried… let it ALL out… and rinsed my face before I left… I walked out of that party with what amounted to smeared, red paint all over my face, my left arm somehow, and one leg of my pants. Oh, and because you don’t go Bowie without glitter…. there was also glitter. Sweat, tears, water, paint, glitter.

The bus home stopped right outside this place that does karaoke on Saturdays. And that night was the last Sat of the month which meant, Rockaoke – it’s the same thing, but with a live band – and there were a group of rock fans my own age, who hate the gold coast as much as I do, and who loved me. I just sat down to relax. The rest of the night was a blur of awesome.

Then when I got home, I just collapsed, and went into fever, because this whole year has been an emotional roller-coaster from hell, with periods of soaring highs that, the SECOND the source is gone, send my crashing right back down to the lowest I’ve ever been. Uncontrollable sobbing ensues.

Hence my face paint… looked like war paint. And I make shell-shock, PTSD flashback jokes often.

This time wasn’t a joke. This time was for real. And my Xbox, which I’d been using to cope through my bad year, fell over and broke the game I was playing to unwind. My xbox broke, but it was more than just a machine to me. It was control.

Man, I wish I’d taken a photo before I showered. You regret some bad decisions that you went through with, and follow through to the bitter end. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, because that’s simply not true.

But sometimes, yes, the biggest regrets are the moments you didn’t capture, just let them slip. You know, like Eminem.

The silver lining to all this is, now everyone knows that I’ve been through hell and it made me physically sick. The sympathy – real sympathy – poured in after that. People actually lined up to see me after that, pretty much. People who haven’t made me a priority at all this year. Granted, yes, the last 12 months, everyone’s lives all changed drastically, en mass. Basically, life for me and everyone I knew took a grenade shower. So I don’t hold a grudge or anything like that – I am understanding that we’ve all been through hell this year, and it’s not just me saying that about myself. But I went through it alone, lost in the woods, and many miles to go before I could sleep.

But – and no, this isn’t the lesson here – I found that if I bitched about it hard enough, people finally listened.

A week of bed rest at mum and dad’s, a new chair (the awful ones in this place did a number of my neck after a while) and a stress handle thing (no idea what it’s called, I just know it means I don’t harm anyone or thing, always a preference when you have my psychotic side rise up like a Revenant and nowhere to go) and a tonne of binge watching TV and reading and taking it easy – with some anti-anxiety meds to help – did wonders for me.

Shit got real. I like to think I handled it like  Terminator (which the music for just started playing, incidentally…). I didn’t, not even close, but I like to *think* that.

And I seem to be having pizza in the park after dark with a girl I know from Before on Wednesday. That’ll be good, for sure.


Cultural Appropriation (or, there ain’t no guilt like white guilt)


Apparently, at some point at the Brisbane Writer’s Festival, some British woman offended every minority ever by saying something to the effect of Cultural Appropriation is a fad that will go away. I think. I don’t really even know, it’s all PC bullshit to me, the kind of thing I hated about Cultural Studies at Uni. It’s too damn dank, if you ask me. I don’t get into this kind of snobbery, knee-jerk “what if I offend some minority” panic. Or maybe some SJW did this in response to this, or something like that. I don’t even know, I’m still looking into it, and honestly, the first article I read about the incident, was the one that everyone’s in an uproar about, and I’d have read through the article fully… but I didn’t feel like it. Besides, I was too busy getting my beer on at Irish Murphy’s across the river and wearing pink shades to give one shit about this SJW shit. But I think that’s what this all about, and you only have to read the ‘headlines’ to realize just what a panty-twisting scenario this was… for about five minutes, then I, and everyone else it seems, tuned out.

Or something to that effect. I don’t know, I wasn’t paying attention. Ain’t that a double-edged sword.





Friday nights

Last night’s writer’s festival event was pretty nice. Got to see Corey and Flick, my best friends through school and Uni respectively, signed their copies of my book, and had a good convo in the VIP area of another thing where there was alcohol (we just invited ourselves into that area, there weren’t a whole tonne of people anyway). I then sauntered over to Irish Murphy’s and had some more drinks, and handed another copy over to one of the bartenders there who is an avid reader, and who I had the longest conversation this year with earlier. I’m finally confident enough to start meeting new people. The apathy I had in the year before made the prospect unappealing, then I met someone and subsequently lost said person to fear and ignorance, and hit rock bottom just as the shit hit the fan in every other area at once. I’d thought I’d been at rock bottom before; everything else was just the support act for rock bottom (isn’t *that* a fun name for a cover band? :p) and while I’ve clawed my way out of the pit, lately I’m in the ‘what’s the next step’ part. Every little bit of confidence boost I can get, I need. Playing it safe may be the only way to move forward, but that’s okay right now. And the little things help. Last night was a good night. I even got some pink plastic Smirnoff shades out of it. Of course, if I don’t do some editing Sunday, then I have to give a dollar to the stupidest crowd-funding project I can find, so accountability I guess.

Upgrading account

Okay, so I’m currently upgrading my domain from thedarkword.wordpress.com to that-minus-wordpress. This is after switching to wordwarwriter.wordpress.com, which I now don’t like so much after all (good job, me…). So you can find all my old content there, but as I’m waiting for the upgrade to go through here, we’ll see how this goes. That was maybe a bad idea. I think, now, that upgrading would have worked better after all. Lesson learned I guess. We’ll see soon enough.