Garry Crystal -Life and Payback's a Bitch

Midnight in Paris - the Scent of the City

2012-01-18T15:25:00.012+01:00

Midnight in Paris - the Scent of the City

*This article was published at some point in 2011 on the site that shall not be named, except I did name it in a previous article below. The New York section of this article seemed to cause consternation to some readers although no offence was intended. It was simply coincidence that had stuck in my head, one of the multitude of seemingly strange things that occur many times every day in this smaller than we think world of ours.

Every city I have been to has had its own individual smell. The trouble is I cannot always describe that smell in words.

Every time I have arrived in the City of London I have taken a deep breath, not only to prepare me for the unknown that lies ahead but simply to take in the scent that has become a recognisable part of returning once again to that city. But if you asked me to describe it in words I wouldn’t be able to.

New York has its own unique smell. Even though I was there for only two weeks and cannot conjure up the smell now, I know that it is buried somewhere in my head.

How do I know?

Ten months after I had been on holiday in New York I awoke in my flat in London one morning, and in that hazy just waking up moment I said to myself, “Why do I smell New York?”

I though maybe it was the remnants of a dream. For some reason I often had dreams, and still do, where I was lost wandering the streets of New York unable to find my way back to whatever destination I was trying to reach. I hadn’t been dreaming of New York but the smell when I awoke that morning was so powerful that for a few moments I was startled by how real it was to me. But then with the work day ahead I thought no more about it, it was just one of those things.

Later that same day, at around two in the afternoon, I was sitting at my desk at work when a colleague sitting next to me said, “I’ve just been sent a text that a plane has crashed into New York’s World Trade Center.”

To me it was just a strange coincidence, one that I didn’t and don’t usually mention to anyone, especially as I am not a big believer in signs or premonitions and I don’t want to appear a lunatic. But as this is a story on the sense of smell I though I would mention it and leave the reader to draw their own conclusions.

Paris has a smell.

Paris has a smell that I can describe.

On my first trip to Paris I hadn’t noticed the city’s scent or if I had I wasn’t aware of it. It was on my second trip that I discovered for myself the smell of Paris. I had wandered the city one night, lost in a drunken haze for several hours, completely unable to find my hotel amidst the narrow dark winding streets that all looked exactly the same in the darkness. This seemingly never ending, unexpected journey ended with the smell of Paris.

The drunkenness was a result of six hours of drinking bottles of red wine in the numerous bars of Oberkampf that led to one final bar where they served the best Jack Daniel’s cocktails I had ever tasted, not that I had ever tasted Jack Daniels in a cocktail form before to be able to compare. It was the cocktails that did for me that night. The girl I was with recommended them and they were mixed by a barman friend of hers, a concoction of Jack Daniels and Southern Comfort guaranteed to detach the imbiber from their senses. I think I had four or five in quick succession in the hour prior to midnight before realizing that I was now truly drunk and left the bar on auto-pilot without a word with the intention of heading straight back to the hotel.

But that night I found myself walking in circles, walking for hours only to eventually return to the same point I had been to earlier. The voice in my head accompanying me on my journey shouted at me continuously, “It must be this way, there is a sign for Republique, just follow that sign. That is where the hotel is, it must be.” Every time I followed the signs I would end up back where I had started or somewhere else, just not at my hotel.

As the long journey into the night progressed the voice in my head grew angrier with each step and started calling me a variety of names, none of them good. The voice was infuriated that I had gotten myself lost, that I had no actual cash left on me and that hours earlier I had placed the wrong PIN number in my cash card three times in succession and could no longer withdraw any money and could not take the easy option of a no doubt quick taxi ride back to my hotel. As the night progressed past three o’ clock and then four o’clock the voice in my head eventually grew weary of calling me every profanity it could think of and simply begged to be allowed the luxury of the soft sheets of the hotel bed and perhaps an ice cold coke to take away the dry throat and thirst.

At one point on my journey I stopped and asked strangers standing at a bus stop where Republique was and was told to get the night bus and it would take me there. I had a one euro coin left in my pocket, exactly enough money for one bus trip and took my seat, immensely thankful that I didn’t have to put my now aching feet through anymore of this torture and I would soon be able to enjoy the bliss of sleep in that bed that I desperately desired. It was all just a short comfortable bus ride away.

I then got off at the wrong stop and my wandering through that dark night in January recommenced.

People say that Paris is a city to walk in, but not for seven hours straight. I wandered through many deserted streets and boulevards and saw many majestic illuminated Parisian buildings, which at any other time on some sort of organised tour would have made for a wonderful sightseeing trip. At one point I wandered through a deserted underground motorway tunnel that had a large section of wall missing. As I passed by the crumbling section of wall I peered through and noticed someone bedding down for the night on the waste ground. As the person crawled into what appeared to be some form of sleeping bag he or she turned and looked at me and then slowly waved at me. Not wishing to appear rude I waved back - of course, why not. I had never been envious of a homeless person before. Goodnight, enjoy your sleep, at least you have a bed for the night.

Eventually, finally, as my feet and legs were screaming for mercy, as I was seriously considering sleeping in a doorway, as night had passed and the early morning daylight had arrived, the Place de la Republique statue appeared before me and I knew that my hotel was only a few more minutes walk. I passed the early morning workers exiting and entering the Metro, some looking strangely at this shambling figure who passed by but I didn’t care. All I could think of was that hotel bed and the sleep that would follow once I had pulled those soft blankets over me. I had been awake and out on the streets since 10 the previous morning and I had walked for almost seven hours non stop throughout the night.

And I as I walked the remaining few steps to my hotel past the cafes and restaurants and took a lungful of air, the smell suddenly hit me.

If you are up early enough and are a newcomer to the city the smell of Paris will become apparent. It is the sweet smell that emits from the patisseries that line the streets and also the smell of the freshly baked bread and croissants. There is also a hint of freshly brewed coffee mixed in, which emanates from the sidewalk cafes and restaurants. I had never noticed this smell before because I had never been out of bed and out on the streets of Paris this early. But it is a smell that will stay with me and that I will be able to remember if I ever need to write about Paris. If had never gotten lost that night I would never have been up that early in Paris on my trip and I would never have experienced that somewhat overpoweringly sweet scent.

Every city, perhaps every destination, has its own unique smell. The scent of a place can reappear at any time without warning, taking you back to a destination or time in your past and bringing back long buried memories.

Some people will read this and no doubt be hit with the smell of bullshit but that’s okay.

Everyone’s sense of smell is different.

Images copyright: G Crystal

Blogcatalog Owners Silencing Writers With Threats of Lawsuits

2011-11-17T22:24:00.029+01:00

Lies, censorship and lawsuits. Why 14 writers decided to take a stand against the unethical business practices of the owners of Blogcatalog and Broowaha.

“I’ll sue your fucken ass if you make one false statement about Broowaha. You’re a pussy.” – Tony Berkman (left), owner of Blogcatalog, Broowaha and BloggersUnite.

What made 14 writers, many of whom had been writing with the Citizen Journalism website Broowaha since its inception, decide to leave? Seven of the writers left the site in one weekend, 14 within the space of a week. Many of the 14 requested that all of their work, amounting to hundreds of articles over six years as writers with Broowaha, provided free of charge to the website owner, be deleted as they no longer wished to be associated with the site. These were writers who had built up a solid following of readers at Broowaha. Many were featured continuously for years as the site’s most popular writers.

One or two writers leaving a website because of creative or business differences with the new owner may not seem unusual but when 14, including the editor, suddenly leave citing unethical business practices as the reason for the exodus, then alarm bells should start ringing.

In an ironic twist, Tony Berkman, the owner of a Citizen Journalism website has, in trying to silence the writers, turned himself into a story.

For a quick read of information relating only to Blogcatalog, click here.

Broowaha; a Unique Citizen Journalism Website

"I feel that over the years I connected with a lot of good writers that I consider friends, although we haven't met one another face to face. That's the kind of community that had been built there; and to see how they were being threatened and "blacklisted", I couldn't in good conscience remain there. So, I left, requesting my account be removed - and not saying why. And for that I was "blacklisted" as well." – Julian Gallo. Broowaha writer for four years, 110 articles.

Broowaha was created in 2006 by Ariel Vardy as a Citizen Journalism site back when CJ sites such as Orato and All Voices were also finding their feet. What made Broowaha unique from other CJ sites was the long-term writers. These weren’t fly-by-night writers who would submit a few articles or hang around for a few years and then disappear; many of the writers stayed the course, submitting articles regularly for six years. Over those six years these writers created Broowaha by supplying hundreds of well written articles on subjects such as politics, human interest and the arts to name a few. Broowaha became a unique place because the writers themselves were unique. They would interject articles with their own perspective, would encourage others with their writing through the comments section, and many of these writers became friends over the lifespan of their time with the site.

With any collection of diverse personalities there would be arguments, but freedom of speech was always a key component of this CJ site. Left and right wing writers would discuss and sometimes argue points, but what was always important about Broowaha was there was no censorship, no editorial bias and no interfering from the owner except perhaps to refuse an article that was not up to the writing quality of the site. Any writer who was refused publication for this reason was invited to revise their article and resubmit. This was all to change in October 2009.

The New Management Has Arrived

In October 2009 there were a few new arrivals to Broowaha.

Antony J Berkman describes himself on his Linkedin profile as a “Digital Entrepreneur” although in interviews he likes to describe himself as a visionary and someone who likes to “add fuel to the fire.” Angie Alaniz has been Berkman’s business partner for over 10 years. According to Berkman, Alaniz is the one who “keeps the fire contained and is the glue of what we do.” Together, Berkman and Alaniz are variously listed as either CEO or President or co-owners of Blogcatalog, Broowaha, Fried Eggs and Bloggers Unite as well as a host of past and present websites.

In 2009, Berkman purchased Broowaha for $15,000. A silent partner, John Forch, is also known to be involved in Broowaha. (Read more about Broowaha’s silent partner).

The arrival of Berkman, Alaniz and Forch didn’t go unnoticed by some of the long-term Broowaha writers. Some writers saw the new management team immediately as a threat and gave them the nickname ‘the wrecking crew’ but most waited to see how the site would be affected before passing judgment. Berkman began simply enough by bringing in new writers to the site, many from his Blogcatalog site. Most of the Broowaha writers saw nothing wrong with new writers coming onto the site as the common thinking was that new writers are always needed and would bring in more readers. But many long term writers left the site claiming that Berkman was a destructive force, getting rid of the features such as the individual country locations that boasted their own writers.

New Site Editor Cher Duncombe

One good idea Berkman had was to hire writer Cher Duncombe as Broowaha’s new editor. Duncombe had written articles for Broowaha since 2009 and was taken on as editor shortly afterwards. “After spending many months as a volunteer Editor at Broo, I studied the writers and tried to determine what the community wanted. The consensus seemed to be that the community wanted columns, which I thought was a great idea and appropriate for the site. I asked Tony's permission to implement them and he told me to go for it!”

Duncombe began emailing previous writers who were no longer interested in the site and she stoked their enthusiasm. For all intents and purposes, it wasn’t Berkman or Alaniz who ‘added fuel to the fire’ and brought Broowaha back to life it was Duncombe. With Duncombe onboard as an unpaid editor, sometimes putting in 20 hour work days, Broowaha began to attract old and new writers. Many writers were given columns; a format introduced to Broowaha by Duncombe, and began submitting articles every week without fail. In October 2011, seven months after her appointment as editor, Duncombe quit Broowaha citing creative differences as the reason for her departure.

“Cher did so much work setting up a column system and it just got swept of the table. Like it was nothing. I truly admire and respect Cher and to see one of my friends hurt like that, it just pissed me off.” – Tahira Lubrano. Broowaha writer, May 2011, 17 articles.

The Beginning of the End

The creative differences mentioned by Duncombe is a nice way of saying that Berkman had decided that things weren’t going the way he wanted them to. As Duncombe said, “He removed the columns and began adding new writers to Broo where they could essentially hone their skills and become better writers. Many of the regular Broowaha writers are published authors and I thought this took Broowaha down several notches on the quality rungs. I asked Tony if this was really the direction in which he wanted to go, and he said yes. After spending so much time on setting up columns, talking to writers, etc., I became totally disheartened and left. It became apparent that Tony had his own ideas for the direction of Broowaha. It was time for me to move on.”

Censorship and Favoritism by Broowaha Owners

“It appeared that specific article comments were being deleted without warrant. It seemed as though there were favorites (writers), and it was usually those whose opinions, usually political, sided with one of the owners.” – Jennifer Sharp. Broowaha writer since 2007, 23 articles.

With Tony Berkman now in charge as editor, relationships between writers and management quickly deteriorated and the term ‘wrecking crew’ became a reality. A site that was previously free from editorial bias and censorship now had Berkman’s boot print stamped all over it. Whereas Berkman had previously tried to come across as a guy who understood writers, wouldn’t interfere with the site and wanted everyone to have a say, he now began laying down the law in no uncertain terms. Berkman again began to bring in writers from his Blogcatalog site, claiming he would promote them heavily on the site if they wrote regularly for him.

One right-wing writer brought in by Berkman was a particular favorite of his. It didn’t go unnoticed by other writers that if another writer disputed the ‘facts’ on the right-wing writer’s article, then Berkman, who had never usually commented before on articles and had described himself as apolitical, would jump to her defense. In fact, disputing the facts on this writer’s article was all it took for Berkman to issue threats of termination from the website, as happened to long-term writer Dean Walker.

Walker, who publishes regularly on the website Project Censored, would regularly shred the right-wing writer’s alleged facts as propaganda and outright lies. Berkman and Alaniz gave Walker the ultimatum of either keeping silent on these specific articles or being banned from the site. When the right-wing writer publicly made desultory comments on Walker including accusing him of anti-Semitism, Berkman either stood back and said nothing or backed up the right-wing writer. In the end Walker, who had been given frequent warnings that he would be banned for simply exercising his right to free speech and disputing unbalanced reporting and disputable facts was eventually kicked off the site by Berkman.

Just before Walker was banned from the site, Berkman stated his intentions in a public comment on Broowaha when Walker dared to argue with him: “This is my site, I’ll do what I want. Don’t like it leave. I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks of me who doesn’t know me.”

The New Edgier Broowaha As Defined by Tony Berkman

“I think we should have a porn section, I mean don’t you think that would sell?”- Sam Zell, the businessman who took over and ran the Chicago Tribune into bankruptcy.

The quote above will sound familiar to anyone who was around when Tony Berkman announced his intention to make Broowaha an ‘edgier’ website. In a Letter from the Editor called The Edge of Writing and Creativity, published on September 29,2011, Berkman outlined the direction he wanted the site to take, which was to make the site edgy and to “attract hip, high quality, undiscovered authors and artists that are writing and sharing stories about life on the edge.”

Between the lines of the article Berkman also publicly tore into the hard work and success achieved by Cher Duncombe. Berkman called the columns that Duncombe had implemented “a hangover thinking derived from the age of traditional journalism,” and in an article that reeked of hypocrisy given the nature of Dean Walker’s exit, Berkman wrote “Broo's mission is to flatten the news organization and provide a platform for authors, new's (SIC) journalists, citizen journalists and creative people to express their views without fear of censorship.”

What was apparent to the writers was that when Berkman said he wanted a new direction he meant increased page views above all else, even if that meant deterioration in the quality of writing on the site.

Sex Sells at Broowaha

So what did Berkman, the visionary, think would give Broowaha this edge? With amazing unoriginality Berkman tried to take the most obvious route towards increasing page views: sex. Berkman brought in a sex writer to post regularly but also, in what is one of the more bizarre Broowaha moments, wrote an article called, Wikipedia’s Insights on Masturbation are important to Google-Broowaha.

The image that accompanied his article on the front page is as pornographic as it gets. When writing the short article Berkman inserted the keyword ‘masturbation’ around 20 times in the hope of using search engine optimization (SEO) to lure internet users typing in this keyword to land on the article.

By posting this article, Berkman had in fact broken the terms and conditions laid down in Broowaha’s user agreement stating that users of the site were forbidden from uploading pornographic images.

Berkman did succeed in attracting more readers with this article, but only for around 30 minutes and only from long-term Broowaha writers who couldn’t believe how low Berkman would stoop to increase the readership. Broowaha writer Dan LaFollette cited Berkman’s article as one of the reasons why he left the site: “When I got a full shot of the picture he had on his masturbation article (with my kids right next to me) coupled with all of the news coming in from people who I have come to trust about his use of profanity while communicating with them, and endless threats, it was time to leave.”

When Berkman’s article was posted, Angie Alaniz stated in the Broowaha Café for all registered readers and writers to see that she “hadn’t signed up for this, I quit.” Then, Jennifer Sharp, a long-term Broowaha writer, had a public discussion in the Broowaha Café with Berkman and effectively talked him down off the ledge. Berkman at first simply changed the article image to a slightly softer version but then removed the article completely. Alaniz, whether she did actually quit or not, came back on board the next day.

* Since the writing of this article, Berkman’s contributions to the ‘edgy’ content of Broowaha has included articles on Fila’s skele-toes footwear and another on crooked teeth enhancements. According to one Broowaha writer, “The irony of the article written by Berkman entitled Are You a Social Media Tool is apparent to all but Berkman.”

Dirty Tricks, Lies and Legal Threats

“What pushed me to leave is finding out the writers that were NO LONGER part of it were threatened with a lawsuit for voicing their opinions. WE LIVE IN AMERICA and have the right to say how we feel and discuss with others. ” – Katy Kern. Broowaha writer April 2011, 35 articles.

October 24^th 2011 saw the creation of a Facebook page by Jennifer Sharp known as the Broowaha Expats. This was a place ex Broowaha writers could come together and discuss what had been happening on the site. By this date, Cher Duncombe had quit, Jennifer Sharp had requested that her account by deleted and the Dean Walker censorship argument was coming to a head on Broowaha. Six days, later another 12 Broowaha writers, having seen and heard from others exactly what was going on requested that their accounts be deleted and their articles removed. In the Broowaha Café, Tony Berkman proclaimed his innocence and said that he couldn’t understand why writers were leaving. Behind the scenes, he quickly began threatening legal action.

Having a point of view or sharing an opinion is not against the law. In Berkman’s eyes however, the Broowaha Expats group was a threat to his name and his website’s reputation. The Expats was an invitation only group but Berkman had managed to view all posts by the members during the first week. Berkman and Alaniz would then put on rehearsed conversations in the Broowaha Café in which they would repeat and discuss the postings in the Expats group, again for all readers and writers of the site to witness. Berkman and Alaniz portrayed themselves in these conversations as free from blame and completely perplexed as to the reasons behind the writer’s walkout.

Berkman and Alaniz could have discussed the matter in private; they were working together in the same apartment. Instead, they chose to air the matter in public including Berkman falsely stating that health problems were the reason for Duncombe’s departure.

Black-Listing the Writers

Berkman also took the step of placing a status of “black-listed” in red on the Broowaha account of every writer within the 14 who had left. Berkman and Alaniz then had a discussion in the Broowaha Café on the subject after reading comments in the Broowaha Expats about the black-listed status. Alaniz said, “So apparently the word "Blacklisted" is a bad word these days. Please know that word has now been replaced with "inactive".

Tony Berkman - Cease and Desist

“It's about freedom of speech. It's about the freedom to read what we want. It's about having a site that provides writers with traffic and not telling them what to write about.” – Tony Berkman on Broowaha, November 2011.

On October 28 2011 Berkman took the step of sending Cher Duncombe (and Jennifer Sharp) a Cease and Desist email in regards to the Broowaha Expats group stating, “I am sending this to you with the intention to follow up with an attorney and a law suit if you fail to stop defaming BrooWaha, Angie and myself. If this continues I will sue both you and Jen for continuing to defame BrooWaha and Angie and I. You have already been reported to Facebook as has Jen. If it continues you will be sued.”

Berkman’s Love of Legal Threats

Why does Tony Berkman take the aggressive action of threatening writers with lawsuits in an attempt to silence them? Berkman is under the assumption that if legal threats have worked before they will work again. In 2010, Berkman used legal threats to force a writer named Selina Eckersall to give up all rights to a new platform that Eckersall had created in partnership with Berkman’s Blogcatalog. Eckersall claimed at the time that the new platform that would bring bloggers and brands together was 100% her intellectual property, which she created for free on her time. Although, according to Eckersall, no contracts were ever signed, Berkman threatened legal action against Eckersall if she did not relinquish all rights to the property that she had created. Eckersall walked away from the deal with nothing.

When I asked Eckersall to comment on the matter she stated, “It was rough on me what I went through with them (Berkman and Alaniz)…. While it was a difficult experience to go through, especially publicly, I have to say, I absolutely have moved on and am in such a happier, brighter and more successful place now.”

On October 30 2011, two days after I had deleted my Broowaha account and had decided to write an article on the matter I emailed Berkman, politely asking for his view on the writers’ walkout.

In the early hours of the morning I received a reply from Berkman, “You have zero spine. A reporter? You ran with a bunch of people who didn't like the fact that there was competition. It didn't involve you. You're writing an "independent story" yet you're hanging with a group that defamed broowaha. I’ll sue your fucken ass if you make one false statement about Broowaha. You’re a pussy.”

Using Legal Threats to Avoid Bad Publicity

One of the reasons Berkman is trying to silence writers is that bad publicity is the last thing his company needs right now. Blogcatalog is Berkman’s most popular website, a blog directory site that Berkman and Alaniz bought in 2007 for a reported $40,000 from The Bloggy Network. The site that, according to Berkman, once generated $400,000 annually and was receiving 20 million visitors per month has been accused by many of its members of breaking the user agreement terms and conditions. Without prior warning members have found their accounts deactivated due to not linking back to Blogcatalog, not adding the Blogcatalog widget to their blogs and failing to consistently add content to their blogs. When one blogger found her account deactivated she contacted Berkman via Twitter to question why and was simply told she was no longer welcome at Blogcatalog.

If bloggers aren’t adding widgets and links and contributing content daily, then there is no financial incentive for Berkman to keep them. Blogcatalog is, of course, free to use but there is a fee paying ‘Very Important Blogger’ service priced at $20. Accusations that Berkman is only concerned with fee paying members of Blogcatalog have been denied by Berkman and Alaniz in their usual ‘fool the public’ business manner.

On November 8 2011, an article appeared on Broowaha entitled “Is BlogCatalog turning into a paid blogging community?” This article was written under the name ‘Blogger’. But this article is a copy and paste job that first appeared on Blogcatalog a year ago, written by none other than Tony Berkman. Because of the copy and paste nature, Berkman actually names himself as the writer in the most recent version, yet in the comments section under the article Berkman thanks the writer of the article a year before the article was actually published. Using a simple piece of code, the publication date on the Broowaha version of this article is updated daily.

Berkman also runs a year-long Power Blogger program costing $50 per month per blogger, which is still ongoing. Unfortunately for the bloggers who signed up for Berkman’s Power Blogging, Berkman made promises he simply couldn’t keep. According to two sources, the Blogcatalog offices, as mentioned in the Power Blogger Video, in San Antonio, Texas, have been shut down and the business partners are working from Alaniz’s home in order to save on overheads. The San Antonio, Texas address has been removed from Blogcatolog's website. The business now consists of Berkman, Alaniz and a few volunteer writers marked as employees. Traffic to Blogcatalog has decreased by 50% since the introduction of the Power Blogging program in April 2011.

What Next for Blogcatalog/Broowaha?

To people like Berkman and Alaniz, writers are simply an ends to a means, a way of increasing their profits. All of the websites owned by Berkman and Alaniz are built to financially benefit Berkman and Alaniz - not the writers who supply the labor and content to them for free. Berkman’s use of legal threats to scare and silence writers is an example of not only his business tactics but also his view on the people who have contributed to his success. Berkman’s attitude towards using unpaid writers to publicize his company can be seen during his failed business deal with celebrity lifestyle coach Tony Robbins. (Read more on the Tony Robbins business deal that lost Berkman $200,000 of investors’ money).

Many people will be under the impression that Blogcatalog and Broowaha are private sites and the owners are free to do as they please. But owners of private sites who operate in bad faith are subject to penalty of law. Writers place content on their sites for free and owners make money from advertisements that are viewed beside the writer’s articles. The owners of privately owned websites are subject to internet commerce laws. The future of Blogcatalog and Broowaha can only be determined by the writers who supply the work that allow these websites to exist. Whether that is to be threatened into submission by website owners such as Berkman for daring to have an opinion or to place principles above pageviews will ultimately be the choice of the writers.

Never Underestimate the Narcissism of the Businessman

During November while writing this article I noticed a post in the Broowaha Expats. Dean Walker had been in contact with Berkman and made a more than fair offer to purchase Broowaha with the intention of turning it into a co-operative, which the 14 writers could all then run equally. Berkman has, for appearances sake at least, listed Broowaha for sale four times in the last year with apparently no takers. (Read more about Tony Berkman's continual relisting for sale of his websites).

Berkman’s response to Walker perfectly captures his attitude towards the 14 writers of a Citizen Journalism website who took a stand against his business tactics; the writers he threatened with lawsuits and claimed were defaming his website and ruining his name simply by airing their opinion.

“It’s not about the money anymore.”

Occupy Wall Street

2011-10-13T18:02:00.010+01:00

"How much is enough, Gordon."

"It's not a question of enough, pal. It's a zero sum game, somebody wins, somebody loses."

A little photoshop creation to add to the ongoing protest. I'm not too hot with the photoshop stuff so it is a bit amateurish, you get the point. Occupy Wall Street.

What’s Wrong with Just Being Lost Once in a While?

2011-10-02T18:14:00.005+01:00

“Take the time to figure out your next step but don’t spend too much time smelling the roses because I have a new book coming out soon called Getting Motivated With Tough Love, Move It Lard Ass"

This article was inspired by too much caffeine, nicotine and the appearance of yet another self-help book pushed on me by a ‘well meaning’ friend. Big sigh.

“Believe nothing, no matter where you read it, or who said it, no matter if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense.” – Buddha, one of the all-time heavyweights on the motivational speaker circuit.

This is not a self-help article, at least not intentionally.

Whenever I take a holiday abroad I usually end up getting lost. Paris, Prague, Dublin, New York, while sightseeing I have become lost in all of these cities and ended up wandering around for hours, no idea where I was going but enjoying the feeling of freedom, the act of just wandering aimlessly around a foreign destination and having absolutely no clue what was around the next corner. When I eventually realize I am lost I never ask for directions, usually because I either don’t speak the language or because it goes against the challenge of finding your way back without any help.

Finding your own way without asking for directions is not something that motivational self-help gurus want you to do. Being content with long or short term aimlessness is simply putting them out of a job; it negates their point of being. Their point is to show you the way, well maybe not all the way. If everyone became permanently happy and successful following their advice they would be out of a job and unhappy themselves. And no one wants a miserable unmotivated self-help guru, what a buzz kill. So, almost happy, but buy their next book and you can level up another notch on the happiness scale. You’re almost there.

The motivational advice or self-help book is a lucrative section of the book industry. These are the writers and experts who tell you that they know the secrets that will change your life for the better. For those with personal problems these experts, gurus and life coaches can make you deliriously happy - in fact by the time they are finished with you your face may exhibit a paralyzed Joker smile as you have a full blown happiness seizure. They have the power to make you quit smoking or find ways to get past your grief over the loss of a loved one or the breakup of a relationship. They can help you clinch that perfect job or find the ideal partner, you know, the aura surrounded partner, the one with the golden halo who is waiting to float on air towards you, the one that’s just beyond your reach because you’ve been ‘choosing’ the wrong type all your life you complete life experience amateur.

The business world is also full of these ‘how to’ gurus and motivational business speakers but the goal of the business guru is giving advice that may make you rich by paying them to follow their advice and therefore making them rich by making you a little shorter on the cash front to begin with. Got that? Hey you have to speculate to accumulate right?

These gurus shift books, DVDS and CDs by the warehouse full. No wonder they are always happy and full of pep, people are listening to them, throwing money at them to live the life that is seemingly just over that horizon, that ideal life that you would never be able to attain without the motivational guru’s help. And it’s all there waiting in the pages of their next ‘how to’ book. Wait, it didn’t work for you? Did you even finish the book? Maybe you didn’t follow the instructions. Did you skip over that chapter on asking the universe for what you want? You complete idiot.

It was all just there, a few more pages and that impossibly perfect life would have been yours. Buy the next book and this time finish it. If you can’t muster the effort to read the book then at least just listen to the CD while you sleep. That’s right, while you sleep, they are that good.

Most people go through periods in their lives when they are unsure of how to proceed or what to do next; in other words, completely lost. But what’s so wrong with being lost every now and again? Is it so bad to spend a few unmotivated months avoiding or making your own decisions on how to proceed with your life or working out your own answers to what you want next? Or should you be desperately screaming next, next, next, I need to know what to do next, someone tell me or else I’m just going to be this helpless jelly headed case for the rest of my life. People will shake their heads and say, “man what is wrong with this guy, he is so lost I don’t even know where he is, if only he’d start listening to Dr Phil. Get some help dude you complete loser.”

Of course there’s nothing wrong with looking to the self-help gurus, they have all the answers so why not just follow their rules? They are impossibly happy and rich and have fulfilling lives and are smiling from morning until night, I bet they start smiling before they wake up. I mean why not pay them for the answers; at least you are making someone happy while you are miserable, lost and wandering through the wilderness. Chi ching.

There’s nothing wrong with looking for or getting advice, the internet is full of advisors and self-help types and you don’t even have to pay for a lot of it. But just as there is nothing wrong with looking for advice there is also nothing wrong with wandering around lost for a while, looking for your own direction or maybe not even looking for a direction, simply enjoying the act of being aimless and doing absolutely nothing.

The Italians have a fitting phrase, “il dolce far niente”, it means the sweetness of doing nothing and it is a very important part of their culture or so I’ve read.

We are told from an early age by parents, teachers, careers advisors and employers that we must have a direction, we must know where we are going as soon as is humanly possible, if not before, and if you don’t know then you will soon begin to feel the fear. You WILL end up on skid row with the other bums who spent too long enjoying the sweetness of doing nothing and couldn’t find their way back. One of their biggest mistakes no doubt was not picking up a self-help book. Instead of lying in the gutter making a roof over their heads from empty MacDonald’s cartons they could be dynamic business leaders or Chief Executive Officers of Macdonalds by now, oh the humanity.

The sweetness of doing nothing isn’t something you will usually hear from the advice guru unless it’s, “take the time to figure out your next step but don’t spend too much time smelling the roses because I have a new book coming out soon called Getting Motivated With Tough Love, Move It Lard Ass and you will want to buy this one. This one will definitely make you rich, happy, fulfilled, exhilarated, a successful boss, married to the perfect partner, slimmer and sexually irresistible to all who cross your path. You will awake each morning and smile, and your family will smile back at you, even your pets will smile back at you as you walk into the garden, shake that money tree and live each day under sun filled, rain free skies, almost vomiting up the happiness and joy that I have taught you how to attain simply by reading my book. Only $14.99 including VAT. BUY IT NOW. CAN YOU AFFORD NOT TO?”

To those who are lost and unmotivated, I say give yourself a break and enjoy it, relish it, because soon enough you will look back and see this as the long lost golden age of freedom. Remember that time when you were lost and aimless and had plenty of time to do whatever you wanted to? What did you do with it? Spent it reading motivational self-help books?

Well, at least you made someone happy.

Chi ching.

The Last Busker in London and Other London Tales

2011-09-30T23:45:00.012+01:00

So after writing part of a book I decided to take some of the factual pieces and place it as an ebook available at Amazon and Lulu. This became the four stories that make up The Last Busker in London and Other London Tales. I was inspired to do this by Julian Gallo, a great writer who has published three novels November Rust, Naderia and recently Be Still and Know That I Am. Julian has also published his poetry collections using this publishing method and all are available on Lulu and Amazon's kindle as well as in book form. His enthusiasm for this publishing method made me take a chance and put the stories out there. For an indepth look at these free to use publishing routes check out the article below entitled A Writer's Perspective on Self-Publishing.

Here is a review of The Last Busker in London and Other London Tales written by Julian Gallo a truly inspirational and talented writer to whom I am most grateful for the ongoing encouragement.

Self-Publish or Perish; a Writer’s Perspective on Self-Publishing

2011-09-30T22:58:00.012+01:00

In this interview Julian Gallo talks about self-publishing as way to reach an audience and about the perceptions of others towards a publishing route that has its fair share of advocates and critics.

Four years ago I interviewed New York writer Arthur Nersesian for the Turnrow Literary Journal. Nersesian self-published his first book The Fuck-Up after it had been rejected by over 30 publishers. He brought out his novel in a small print run and undertook his first reading in a bookstore where, “the book sold out before I could actually get to the podium.” The Fuck-Up has gone on to sell over 100,000 copies and he has since published eight novels. This is a nice example of a writer taking control of their own work, and as Nersesian said of the constant rejections prior to self-publishing, “I decided that I had given publishers far too much power.”

Self-publishing (not to be confused with vanity publishing) has come a long way since the days when Hemmingway, Twain, Tolstoi and Woolf decided it was better to self-publish than perish. With the advent of free print on demand services and ebooks there is now no need to pay any money upfront, as was the norm in the past, and a commission rate is the usual way for authors to receive payment and for the publishing companies to take their cut on books sold. Utilizing this technology can mean a writer can have their work up and running on these websites and ready to sell to the public in less than 30 minutes.

When I asked Arthur Nersesian if he thought e-publishing had made a difference for unknown authors he said that, “The problem with e-publishing is that the masses are still asses. Instead of giving new books a chance and spending some time perusing unknown writers, most people will read the most hyped book of the day, which is usually what the person in the next cubicle is reading. Those books simply tend to the best publicized. In the future publicists will win the Booker and Pulitzers and Nobel Prizes.”

Having publishing technology at a writer’s fingertips may be half the battle but there is no guarantee that readers will buy or even know about the writer’s work. Publicity is a big part of self-publishing and it will make a difference to a writer’s audience size if the writer is fully aware and can utilize all of the online marketing and advertising methods available. But the recent story of insurance salesman John Locke who sold a million ebooks through Amazon’s Kindle self-publishing division is proof that this is a viable route towards finding a large readership.

With the above in mind I talked to writer Julian Gallo who has self-published three novels; November Rust, Naderia and his latest Be Still and Know That I Am. In this interview Julian talks about self-publishing as way to reach an audience and about the perceptions of others towards a publishing route that has its fair share of advocates and critics.

From what I have learnt recently there seems to be nothing that publishing companies can do that a writer cannot do in regards to publishing their own work. What do you consider to be the main benefits of a writer taking control of getting their own work into the public eye?
Things are beginning to change, especially with the advent of the eBook. The only thing I can think of that the publishing companies can do that self-publishers cannot do is the amount of publicity they can give you - and unfortunately, in the eyes of many still - that air of “legitimacy.” For some reason, the literary world hasn’t quite yet caught up with the music and film worlds, who seem to see independent ventures as something noble. The literary world still frowns upon authors publishing themselves. They MIGHT get away with it if they actually run their own publishing houses but what’s the difference, really? It’s a debate that still rages from what I can see but I don’t see why it should be looked at as any different than a group of musicians recording and releasing their own material. To me, it’s the same thing. There were and are plenty of writers - some of whom are now deemed “important” who have published their own work - Walt Whitman being a prime example.

Some people claim self-published material is inferior and that is why the authors have to self-publish. Is this a perception you have encountered from others?
It’s an argument I’m tired of, really. A self-published book can be as good or as bad as a “legitimately” published book. It’s really just a simple matter of perception as I see it but some will never come around so why bother trying to justify yourself. If that’s what you want to do, I say go for it. If you want to publish with a major house, I say go for it. I don’t take this stand as a battle cry. I would publish with a major house if they were ever interested in me. But I see it as being proactive. Some call it “vanity.” Whatever. I don’t even argue about it anymore. If one feels they don’t want to read me because it’s self-published, then don’t read me. I’ve never been one to do that. A good book is a good book is a good book, no matter what avenue was used to bring it to fruition. At least read the damn thing before making up your mind. Don’t just dismiss it out of hand.
It reminds me of all those years that the “real” record companies ignored all the so-called alternative bands until Nirvana became huge. Then they opened their eyes and saw this whole thing happening right under their noses all that time. Naturally they threw money at it, enticed a lot of people to sign with them and wound up ruining the careers of most of them. In a lot of ways, they went from being artists to products and when that “product” didn’t sell - see ya! A couple of thousand albums sold independently is quite a feat. For a major record label, it’s a tax write off. It’s a choice to make and to me there’s nothing wrong with either one of them. It’s just another thing to divide people - especially writers - who in my experience are the worst of the bunch when it comes to pettiness and needless competition.

Given the increasing popularity of self-publishing through venues such as Amazon and Lulu it seems people’s attitudes are changing towards it.
I believe things are beginning to change and the whole idea is becoming more acceptable to a lot of people. You will always have those out there who frown upon it though, regardless of the arguments. My feeling about that is to ignore those voices if self-publishing is something you want to do. Eventually, I believe that things will catch up with what musicians and filmmakers have been doing for a long time now. For those who want to continue to see it as "vanity", so be it.
One of the things I learned when I operated a small poetry press back in the 1990s was there were many things that came my way that I rejected too. Why? Well, some of it I thought was really bad - other times it was because it just didn't fit my "vision" of the press, other times because I just didn't have the money to do it. But while doing this, I realized that the very same thing was happening regarding my own work I was sending out there, so I never took it personally, nor did it give me the feeling that it wasn't anything of quality just because someone didn't like it.
Ultimately someone is making a decision as to whether or not to invest time, money and energy into putting out your work, right? Sometimes it will grab someone, other times it won't. The luck of the draw. I imagine editors at major publishing houses work in the very same manner. Self-publishing can be a way to bring the work directly to an audience the way you envision it. No guarantees naturally. Some will like it, others will not. You have no control over that. The reader ultimately decides, right?

Do you think the recent accomplishment of the self-published author John Locke who sold a million e-books through Amazon should have the publishers worried?
I don’t know if they’d be worried but it would definitely make them open their eyes and take notice. Most likely, that author is being pursued by the major houses now to publish with them. I don’t know if he will or not. All I know is that if I were able to achieve something as incredible as that, why would I sign with anyone? If I could sell a million eBooks on my own, who needs a publisher? But his story is definitely the exception not the rule - but I’ve been reading about many authors self-publishing via eBooks selling quite a bit - more than I think they’d thought they would.
Perhaps the perception is changing - and if it is, it’s a shame that it gains “legitimacy” based on sales rather than the work itself. If that author’s eBook sold only 50 copies, it would still be the same book. But since it sold over a million, suddenly people’s perceptions change about the very same work. Otherwise he’d be looked at as just another “vanity” author, self-publishing because he couldn’t “cut it” with a “real” publisher. The whole thing seems absurd to me, really. If people would just open their minds more and just take a chance, they may discover something they truly enjoy.

Do you see any downsides to self-publishing? I’m thinking that commission to the writer is pretty low given that they have done most of the work. (Commission for the writer is usually 30% for lower priced books but can be as much as 70% if the book is priced higher).
Of course, there's a huge downside - the main one being what I touched upon earlier about the perception of legitimacy. There are still quite a few readers out there - and writers as well - who simply will not take a self-published writer seriously. The reason for this is that since anyone CAN publish their own work, not all of it is quality. There's this sense that editors from major publishers are those who weed out the crap from the good stuff - but this is not always true either. For me, personally, I don't immediately dismiss something that was either self-published or published by some small or micro press because I know from experience that there are a lot of talented people out there who have done some very interesting work. People are not willing to take chances because of this perception, which is still alive and well, believe me. But since I come from a place where this sort of thing was done all the time, I'm not as prejudiced about it. Is everything I read from self-published authors good? No. But not all of it is bad, either and for me, the only way I will know is if I explore it for myself and make my own determination.

The other downside is the amount of work involved in publicity and getting the word out. Naturally, with Facebook, Twitter, and other social networking sites like Goodreads - which is great for writers as well as readers - and others like it, there is a network beginning to build for those who chose to take the independent route. There's also the issue of money - which is not going to come flowing into your bank account unless you're very lucky. It all depends on how you do it and how well you sell. POD (Print on Demand) sites like Lulu, Smashwords, and others, well, you can publish a book for free essentially - or for very little depending on what program you sign up for. The good thing about these sites for self-publishers is that there's no warehousing of books. If your book doesn't sell, you don't have a closet full of them. They way these sites make their money is through taking a little percentage off the cover price, which really isn't a lot. Also through distribution packages which vary depending on the site and the one you choose. But it is a far cry from having to spend thousands of dollars on having your book to be printed and being stuck with a closet full of unsold books, right? For those who chose to self-publish, these sites are no-brainers. With eBooks, well there isn't any physical product at all, it's all digital.

Publishers have an agenda, which is to sell books that are popular and make money, it is a business. The self-published writer who sold a million ebooks decided he wasn’t going to leave the fate of his work to others. I don’t see why self-publishing isn’t seen as credible as any other independent venture.
Absolutely. I never understood that either. One of my favorite writers, a poet named d.a levy, released every book he ever wrote under his own imprint. It was very much the same thinking I had when I did my own press but he was doing it back in the 1960s. It was the same DIY ethic that existed in the early 1980s in New York. When I first started writing seriously one of the first things I thought about was should I look for a publisher or should I just do it myself. A lot of writers don't even ask this question. They immediately seek a publisher. I don't think the thought of bringing something out on their own even crosses their mind precisely for the reasons I mentioned above: too many people have convinced writers that self-publishing is nothing more than a "vanity" project and it shouldn't be taken seriously.

So you see self-publishing as simply another venue towards bringing your work to an audience?
I come out of a background where artists did things themselves - and there was no question, no debate, no moral dilemmas about it. Writers poets, musicians, painters, and whoever else. But the more I looked into it, the more I noticed this attitude - that somehow a writer's work is somehow inferior because it was done independently. In some cases, this is absolutely true but not always. Like you said, you can make a very strong argument that some of the books major publishers print are just as lousy. Slapping a large imprint's name on the spine of a book doesn't necessarily equal quality - and those who argue the strongest against writers who self-publish are usually the first ones claiming how there are so many bad books coming out of the "real" publishing world, right? I think the author of that eBook had the right attitude and for him, it worked out amazingly well. There are a lot of artists out there who don't understand and will never understand what went on back in the early 80s and even into the 90s. It's a whole subculture, I suppose, that some people get and others simply do not - and probably never will.

The writer who sold a million ebooks has now written a book showing others how he achieved this. From what I have read his ‘how to’ book focuses on marketing, using Twitter, Facebook, blogging etc to reach potential readers. Is self-marketing as big a part of self-publishing as the ability to actually write a good story?
This is good but one has to be careful as well. This writer who sold that many eBooks is really an anomaly. I highly doubt most others even come close to this. Some are selling well but nowhere NEAR this number. It really depends on your expectations being realistic. Some writers think all they have to do is publish their eBook (or paperback, etc) and suddenly their work will begin selling. It's not as easy as it sounds and the one downside of this happening for this guy makes it seem that it IS easy. I've utilized social networking sites and have lots of "friends" and "followers" etc but those who actually bought my books are not even close to the number of people I am in contact with. Don't expect everyone on your Facebook or Twitter pages to immediately run out and buy your book. That's not going to happen. It's hard enough to get people you KNOW to buy and read them, never mind total strangers. I've sold some books over the years, made a little money from them but I'm not quitting my day job anytime soon, you know?

I went in with the idea that I will be selling very few of these books and not immediately either. I had and still have no illusions about how many I'm going to sell. But those I DO sell, I'm hoping THOSE readers will enjoy them enough to want to come back again for the next one, then the next one, and so on, slowly building an audience of readers.
Regarding the second part to your question, major publishers do not expect a writer to just sit home and write, submit the manuscript and simply begin another. They fully expect an author to be a part of the publicity process, utilizing the web, social networking sites, etc. I've never dealt with publishers but what I've been reading is that they fully expect you to take part in publicizing your own work and career. They want to see that "web presence" and what YOU are doing to help build your audience.

You recently edited down your first novel November Rust as an alternative to the original. Do you think this is one of the advantages that self-publishing has in keeping creative control of your work?
That is the GREATEST part about self-publishing. You have total and complete control over everything that you do. The new version of “November Rust” came out of this nagging feeling I had about what that novel would have read like had it been dispensed with all the experimental stuff and just read like a straight novel. I had thought about it for years but never wanted to go through the gargantuan manuscript to even attempt it. But I could never stop thinking about it. I always wanted to have it look better as well. I was never thrilled with the original cover art but at the time, there wasn’t much I could do.
So one day I decided to do it, just to see how it would read. I loved the way it came out so I decided to issue it again but in a much shorter, more straightforward version.

The original is still available, of course, if anyone ever wanted to read it. In fact, it’s available as an eBook now via the i-Bookstore. This new version is for those who prefer a more straightforward story. It does change it a lot in some ways - but I think offering the alternative was better than simply replacing it. I don't think many writers would do this but it was that "something" in me that said that it could work on both levels. The original, I always found flawed in many ways. I was conflicted about it at first but then decided to just go ahead and do it. I see it as a different take on the same story.

What would you say to writers who simply dismiss the self-publishing sites as a way of putting out their work?
Believe me, I could go on about this for a long time and I often have this discussion with many artist friends who understand. But I'm starting to learn that some will never get it, never understand, so there's no point in wasting your energy in trying to explain it. I'm doing what I love and I'm doing what I want to do - people are buying and reading the books and if you ask me, that's the ultimate goal, isn't it? To gain readers. It may be a slow, grinding process doing it independently but it's better than having something sit in your drawer collecting dust. I've always been one who believed that any artist has to put it out there. Get over the fear and just do it. You aren't going to please everyone so don't even try. Build your audience with those who do like what you're doing and forget about those who don't.

Now, with all that said, I don't see anything wrong with a writer who wants to go the traditional publishing route. But I do reject the notion that because one doesn't go that way, that they are somehow less of a writer because of it. That's my feeling, anyway.
Be Still and Know That I Am is available now through Lulu.
Thanks to Julian Gallo for taking part in this interview.

Interview with Julian Gallo, Author of Be Still and Know That I Am

2011-09-22T21:01:00.006+01:00

“Being yourself in a sea of mindless cretins is the hardest battle any kid could face.” – Be Still and Know That I Am

Is teenage rebellion a product of its environment or does the environment encourage teenage rebellion? This is one of themes explored in Julian Gallo’s third novel Be Still and Know That I Am. Gallo’s latest novel takes us far from the Parisian settings of his previous two books to a time and place he has firsthand knowledge of, New York in 1982. It’s a time when President Ronald Reagan was telling the American people that, “Each generation goes further than the generation preceding. You will have opportunities beyond anything we've ever known.” But the opportunities peddled by Reagan are nowhere to be found for the characters that inhabit the working class neighborhood of Queens, New York, during the eighties.

The Italian-American Razza family is the core of this story, a family frozen by the death of its mother. Each member unable to move on and dealing with the loss in their own way. Fifteen year old Nico Razzo represents the eternal teenage outsider looking for an escape from his school and family problems and finding some solace in the punk clubs of New York’s Lower East Side. The Lower East Side setting is a character in itself and should be instantly recognizable to those who have ventured there during the early eighties. For those who have not had first hand experience it’s a fascinating glimpse of a world that no longer exists except in the memories of those who have lived through it. With its infamous clubs, squats, junkies and counter culture music scene it epitomizes the spirit of rebellion that was in direct opposition to the American dream that Reagan was selling nightly from every television set in America.

The clubs of the Lower East Side such as the A7 are now long gone but the themes in Be Still are as relevant today as they were back in the 80s. Over the course of 10 days the children will face officious teachers, troubled parents, brutal high school bullies, sex, drugs and a daily fight for survival. Meanwhile the adults contend with, among other problems, unemployment and the fear of immigrant workers stealing their jobs. Reagan’s government propaganda is always present in the background, selling a delusional dream that many bought into but few could actually afford.

As with his previous novel Naderia, Be Still and Know That I Am is a story that skillfully interweaves many characters and plotlines over its 600 pages. This isn’t a novel that preaches politics or lays blames at the door of any individual or group; the answers are never always that simple. It’s a story of resilience as the characters fight against the forces that try to grind them down on a daily basis while finding their own way within the world.

If you have had a childhood that was less than idyllic you will be able to relate to the characters in this book. Adult readers may find themselves pausing during the book and removing those rose tinted glasses that come with age as they begin to remember clearly the seemingly insurmountable problems they themselves endured as teenagers. That experience alone makes Be Still and Know That I Am a praiseworthy achievement.
In the first of a two part interview I talked with Julian Gallo about his third novel Be Still and Know That I Am.

Be Still is a complete change in direction from your previous novels what made you choose this subject matter?
I had always wanted to write this story - but the problem was I could never figure out how to do it. I always kept it in the back of my mind. I didn’t want it to be a nostalgia trip. I always had the idea of setting a story based around the whole Punk Rock thing in the early 1980s but I didn’t want it to be ABOUT that exactly. I wanted to have a story that was set around all that - and that time period in general - without it being a “Remember when” story or a silly thing that just dropped 80s cultural references in just for the hell of it (although there is some of that there, of course.)

A strange thing happened that actually pulled it all together. I was in St. Lucia and I got an email from a guy that I hadn’t seen in years regarding an old Punk Rock band I played with back in the early 80s. He sent me a link to a rehearsal video of us that was posted on YouTube. Imagine how much my mind was blown at that. Anyway, he managed to get us all reunited via Facebook after almost 30 years and we all got together one night - almost 30 years to the DAY that our band played our first gig - and in a bar right down the street from where the old club, A7, was. We got to talking, catching up, reminiscing and all that. When I left, the idea of the story hit me and I finally figured out how to go about it. I suppose you could say the stars were aligned for this one. I mean, really, what are the chances of all that happening out of the blue?

The title is a quote from the bible, how did this come about?
Originally that wasn’t going to be the title of the book. I had some other ridiculous thing that didn’t really sit well with me but I kind of just kept it there until something better came along. When I came across that quote, I kept turning it over and over in my head and I realized that it would work perfectly for the story. I purposely dropped the word “God” from it - for reasons that are in the story - and what was left was a quote I thought would work on many different levels - the idea of someone who is striving to be himself, one who’s constantly trying to reassure himself that he is okay. It also worked in a different way regarding the other characters in the story: Tommy feeling “God-like” as he spirals further and further into violence; the sense of comfort that Nico’s dad gets as he tries to cope with the loss of his wife, etc. It can apply to just about every character in the story in different ways.

How much of the novel is autobiographical?
Not as much as one would probably think. I was a lot like Nico in a lot of ways - small, shy, angry with the world, rebellious, etc, but aren’t a lot of teenagers that way? I drew from my own experiences as being an “outsider” in those years and gave that to Nico but there are differences too. I didn’t look as extreme as he does, for one, and there are things he does that I wouldn’t have done and vice versa. But there is a lot drawn from my teenage years: the high school the kids go to, the junior high Giovanna goes to, the teachers, the dean, the church, the parks, etc, although most of them are never specifically named. Even some of the other kids in the story were loosely based on people I actually knew. Even some of the events that happen actually happened as well.

The story itself is purely fictional, of course. But I tried to capture that time period - as it was in my neighborhood in Queens, New York and the Lower East Side in late 1982. And some of the other things are quite factual as well - little things like the teams playing in the ball games, what was on TV at a particular time and particular night - even the weather was 100% accurate for September 1982. The internet makes all those little details so easy to verify. You can find just about anything if you know what you’re looking for. That’s why I always say that writers should utilize the internet and not shun it as a distraction when writing fiction.

Will people who were around in New York during this period recognize the places you have written about?
Not around New York generally but a particular area in Queens specifically, I think. Although I never name the high school, the junior high school, anyone who lived in my area of Queens would definitely be able to figure it out. Probably because other areas are specifically mentioned - street names, etc. But I made it a point to not quite identify exactly where Nico’s family lived. It’s actually an amalgam of two different neighborhoods near where I grew up - a sort of fictional blend of the two. The scenes in the Lower East Side are exactly how it was back at that time - down to the last detail as far as I can remember it. I also wanted to keep it as general as I could so that one didn’t have to be from that area to be able to relate to it.

Did you intentionally pick certain plotlines that you knew would be as relevant today as the time period the story is set in?
Not at all. I wanted it to be purely late 1982 and I had to wrack my brain for a while to remember how things were and not get too nostalgic about it. I wanted to try to portray things just as they were at the time. The things that everyone does in this story, kids actually did things like that around where I grew up. The plotlines evolved as I was writing the story. A lot of it wasn’t planned out at all. In fact, what it started out to be was something completely different to how it eventually turned out. I just went with it and see where it would take me.

The younger characters’ stories are timeless; the outsiders, the bullies, drugs, sex, music and also the death of a parent to deal. Did you try to encompass most of the issues kids go through within this small group of teens?
Sort of, yes. When I first set out to write this story, I originally envisioned something a little darker, actually - something more “serious” in a way but that approach was not working at all. I had to keep reminding myself that the bulk of the story is seen through the eyes of a bunch of 16 year olds - at a certain time and place as well. I originally started writing it from an omniscient point of view of an older man looking back but that wasn’t working at all. I wanted it to be more immediate, more “in the moment” so to speak. I thought about those teen books I loved growing up - particularly S.E. Hinton’s books (“The Outsiders”, “That Was Then This is Now” and “Rumble Fish”) and thought perhaps I should try that approach - and I thought doing that worked very well, although I wouldn’t say that this is a “Young Adult” novel like the one’s she wrote. But if comes off that way, so be it. That’s fine with me.

When I reached the point where I thought it wasn’t working the way I hoped, I went back and rewrote everything from this perspective - consciously keeping Hinton in mind. It’s a sort of tribute to her and those books in a way, which I devoured when I was like 13, 14 years old. Of course, the fictional element comes in via all the things that happen in such a short span of time the story takes place - over 10 days. But I think many teens in America - and probably elsewhere too - deal with these issues all the time. When I was growing up, a lot of kids I knew actually had these problems to contend with - and some even far worse than this. I tried to get it all in there as much as possible without going too overboard with it. I also think I was trying to make a statement about my generation in particular: this is what it was like for us in our adolescence. Didn’t any one notice? In some ways, no, they didn’t.

The adults don’t come across, on the whole, as entirely likeable. Alcoholic and uncaring parents, bullying teachers and a pedophilic priest. Again, issues that have a knock on effect on the behavior of some of the younger characters. Is there a sense of laying blame partly on the parents for the children’s problems?
Kids are a product of their environment. This is what was going on for a lot of kids around my neighborhood and a lot of kids I knew personally. While I wouldn’t exactly place the blame on them - I would most definitely say that they contributed to it. The way you see the parents interacting with their kids is not something I just made up for the story. I knew kids who had parents just like this. I was always horrified by that. I was one of the lucky kids who grew up in a stable home with parents who gave a shit. I can’t say that for some of the kids I knew growing up. The way they interacted with them was something alien to me. I tried to bring a little of my own family experience into Nico’s family. Naturally, his situation is fictionalized. My father wasn’t an alcoholic, my mother was and is still alive but for Nico, I wanted to make his environment troubled but still loving.

Even though his father is troubled too, he loves his family and does whatever he can to try to hold it together while at the same time, trying to hold himself together. The whole Italian-American theme on family, I tried very hard to insert that into Nico’s environment. I also wanted the reader to think that Nico’s dad was a prick at the beginning then come to learn that he actually wasn’t - that he was actually a stand up guy who was only fighting his demons just like anyone else. Nico’s home life and mine were on opposite ends of the spectrum, for sure.

In the early 80s the American Dream espoused during the Reagan era doesn’t seem to exist for the adults in the novel. Do you think you anything has changed for the better for the working class in New York since then?
Not really, no. That was the dirty little secret during the Reagan years - at least as far as I saw it. Some won the lottery and others didn’t. Simple as that. Today you got much of the same thing happening - not only in New York but all over America these days. The gulf between the haves and the have-nots is growing wider and wider every year. But that doesn’t keep some from working against their own interests. This is what I tried to get across with Gaetano’s co-workers - guys who had absolutely nothing but yet were cheerleaders for everything that Reagan stood for at the time. It was only later on they learn the consequences of this. Peppered throughout the book there is this conflict. You see it with Gaetano’s coworkers attitudes towards Reagan as well as Nico’s teacher and her propagandizing in the classroom - who was based on a real teacher that I had in high school, who viewed me as this “radical” because I wore a Dead Kennedys T-shirt.

You also may notice the radical references throughout as well - Nico’s sister learning about Communism, the interest that Nico takes in Antonio Gramsci, the Italian Communist who was jailed by Mussolini, the working class frustration and the lengths they’d go to just to feel they are succeeding in something, etc. I wanted to have that gulf appear loud and clear but at the same time not get on the soapbox about it. During those years, the conflict between Capitalism and Communism was in full force - the Cold War years - meanwhile, although no one wanted to be a Communist and hated Communism, in fact, that didn’t mean that Capitalism was the answer to all their problems either. For many in this country - then and now - the deck is stacked against them.

You’ve lived in NY all your life, has it become corporatized beyond recognition compared to your early days?
In some ways yes, and in other ways it is as it always was. I would say that what’s happening now is not too dissimilar to what happened in the later 1980s - after Reagan was re-elected and the “Boom” began, the rise of the Yuppie and all that, that was portrayed brilliantly in Bret Easton Ellis’s “American Psycho.” This story takes place before all of that happened but I think you can see the seeds being planted throughout the story - even if it’s just between the lines. Then, as now, things began to disappear. Only now it seems to be happening at a furious pace.

In reference to Greenwich Village and the Lower East Side in particular, all the old cultural landmarks - or things I felt SHOULD have been cultural landmarks - are all being pushed out by rising rents and luxury condos - which the “hip” seem to be so eager to move into by the way, no matter how much they decry the changing nature of the neighborhoods. All my favorite little haunts are disappearing: CBGBs, for one, and now even the old Chelsea Hotel is becoming a “luxury” hotel now. The old cafés that had been in the Village for decades - disappearing and being replaced by either fast food joints or chain drug stores. It’s a damn shame, really. One of the few that are left is Caffe Reggio. That’s been there since the 1930s. I pray that it will be able to hang on.

You have been very prolific with your writing in the last couple of years with Naderia, November Rust edit and now Be Still, what’s next on the writing front?
I haven’t been as prolific as it may seem. It took me 7-8 years to write “November Rust”, and then another 7 years to complete “Nadería.” I wrote “Be Still and Know That I Am” in about 5 months but have been working on edits and rewrites up until very recently so in total that one took closer to a year to write. My current project I began back in February this year and I’m only a third of the way through. For some reason, this one is a little more difficult to pull together. But I’ve got tons of ideas ready to go it’s just a matter of working on them but I don’t like to work on more than one thing at a time. I get too distracted and overwhelmed.

I’ve also written a bunch of short stories over the past year - something I’d been wanting to do for a while now. Some of them have appeared in various on-line venues such as BrooWaha, ShortStory.uk and IndieInk.com but most of them remain unpublished. The idea of the single story eBooks came to me recently and I thought this would be a great way to make these stories available directly to the reader. The plan I have for them is to release a single short story eBook about once a month and then eventually collect them all into a hardcopy collection. But we’ll see what happens. I’m also planning to make “Nadería” and “Be Still and Know That I Am” as eBooks as well. The more avenues the better, I say. I just want to keep writing - and if I finish something I feel proud of, I’ll put it out there and let the chips fall where they may. Take the bull by the horns, as they say, and try to build your audience, even if it’s one book at a time. That’s all one can really ask for, really.
Be Still and Know That I Am is available now.

Camila Vallejo, Sebastian Pinera and the Chilean Student Protests

2011-08-25T18:51:00.015+01:00

Chile sees the largest protests since the ousting of Pinochet in 1990 in what has been termed the Chilean Winter.

The Republic of Chile is well regarded as a peaceful South American country but the ongoing series of student protests calling for a reform of the education system has led to violence in the streets and could well result in the end of the current government. The dictator Augusto Pinochet may be gone but twenty years later Chilean students are now fighting against the results of the privatization of education imposed during Pinochet’s regime and upheld by the current right wing government of Sebastian Pinera.

Hundreds of thousands of people from across Chile have been protesting for two months against the social injustice of the current education system. Pinochet’s privatization of the education system has led to an explosion of poor quality private universities that differ hugely in quality from the country’s best universities. University Students are charged expensive fees and must pay exorbitant interest rates on loans leaving students and their parents heavily in debt. The private universities also receiving state funding as they are designated as ‘non profit’ organizations. The people who benefit financially from this educational system are the owners of the universities, many of whom are linked to or actually within the current government.

Before reaching university level, children in Chile are sent to government funded schools where the quality of education is dependant on the income generated from the surrounding area. At present Chile spends 4.4% of the country’s GDP on education, which is well below the UNESCO 7% recommended figure. Those who can afford it do send their children to higher quality private schools and universities. But the protestors of this social injustice are not only the poor but include middle class citizens from across the country who are furious at the government’s broken promises and who see a few becoming rich while most are struggling to make a living. The average monthly wage in Chile is estimated at $385 while the average monthly college tuition stands at $500. It is estimated that most students will leave education with a debt of $40,000, this is thought to increase to around $100,000 within 20 years.

According to Joseph Ramos, the head of the Economics Department of Chile, ‘The income difference ratio between the richest 20% and poorest 20% of Chileans stands at 14 to 1, one of the most unequal distributions in Latin America, and the world.’ Chile is one of South America’s most prosperous countries, one example of which is that the copper value extracted from Chile in 2010 came to $39 billion. This would be enough to give every one of the 16 million population of Chile $2 million each. Under the changes made during Pinochet’s government, which was one of mass privatization, the ownership of Chilean copper mines is now shared with foreign companies.

Sebastian Pinera is the current President of Chile, he has held this position for just over one year. Pinera is one of Chile’s richest people with an estimated fortune of $2.4 billion, much of which came from introducing credit cards into Chile during the 1970s. Highlights of Pinera’s history include outright ownership of Chilevision, a terrestrial nationwide broadcasting system, which he sold shortly after becoming president. Prior to winning his place as president, Pinera spent $13.6 million on his presidential campaign. In 2007 Pinera was fined around $680,000 by Chile’s security regulators for an offence similar to insider trading. Pinera denied any wrong doing but did not appeal the case.

Pinera also has strong links to the Pinochet government including managing the ultimately unsuccessful election campaign of former Pinochet minister Hernan Buchi in 1989. Pinera’s brother Jose was a high ranking member of the Pinochet cabinet for three years as the Secretary of Labour and Social Security and then the Secretary of Mining who privatized mining and state pensions. Sebastian Pinera did acquire most of his fortune during the Pinochet era.

Sebastian Pinera has seen his approval rating plummet due to the Chilean protests. His approval rating was 63% around the time of the Chilean miners rescue but this has now dropped to just 26%. Pinera’s approval of an immense hydroelectric dam in the beauty spot of Patagonia has also not helped his approval rating and has led thousands to protest against Pinera’s business tactics.

The Chilean student protests did begin peacefully and included marches through Santiago by around 80,000 students and teachers asking that the national government take control of the school system. Peaceful protest soon turned to violence as the government sent in riot police using tear gas and water cannons to deal with the crowd. The 4^th of August protest ended with 900 arrests with many claiming that the brutal tactics taken by the riot police were not a far cry from the repression used during Pinochet’s regime.

Camila Vallejo, the University of Chile’s student leader, has been active throughout these protests and is seen by many as the protest figurehead. The 23 year old is a member of Chilean Communist Party and the second ever female leader elected in the university’s 105 year history. Vallejo has been behind many of the peaceful protests and the 23 year old has incensed Pinera’s government. Many have commented that Vallejo’s good looks are a hindrance to her being taken seriously. Yet she has been taken seriously enough to have death threats issued against her, which have lead to Chile’s Supreme Court placing her under police protection. The Ministry of Culture, Tatiana Acuña, was recently fired for claiming that the protests would soon end if Vallejo was assassinated. Acuna wrote on her Twitter account, “If you kill the bitch, you kill the rising.” This is thought to be in relation to a quote from Pinochet addressing his troops saying, "If you kill the bitch, you do away with the litter."

Vallejo has been in the midst of the riots and was recorded as saying, ‘The right to congregate has been violated’ as tears streamed down her face from the teargas used by riot police trying to control the crowd. Vallejo said recently, “We don't want violence, our fight is not versus the police or to destroy commercial shops … our fight is to recover the right to education, on that we have been emphatic and clear.”

Camila Vallejo is not the only young person fighting for the right to an equal education.

Gloria Negrete, 19, has now been hospitalized after staging a hunger strike that began over a month ago. Negrete is one of a group of students from Buin who are on hunger strike as part of their protest for the right to free and public higher education for Chilean students. From her hospital bed Negrete read a public statement that included, “This will be a manifestation of the discontent of the responses that this government has given to all the students of Chile. Our lives end, but we know this sacrifice will not be in vain. It will mean that all boys, girls and youth in Chile will finally have a free and dignified education. Today we are in the hospital of Buin, and with our health in precarious conditions after 33 days of this hunger strike, we cry out to be heard, and we represent the cries of millions of Chileans.”

The two day nationwide shut down in Chile on the 24^th and 25^th of August that includes transport and public sector workers is now underway. The protestors have not accepted the government’s promises to cut interest rates and increase spending on education by $4 billion. The protestors are demanding that the blatant segregation and the inequality of education that is in evidence comes to an end and a real reform of the public education system in Chile is undertaken by the government.

With what looks like no backing down from the protestors, President Sebastian Pinera, the man who opposed the arrest of the brutal right wing dictator Augusto Pinochet claiming that it was an attack on the sovereignty and dignity of Chile may have to reconsider the statement he made to students that, “Nothing in this life is free. Someone has to pay.”

* On 24^th August, Gloria Negrete ended the Buin high school students 37 day hunger strike stating that the measure was taken out of concern and distress for the families of the hunger strikers and that they will continue to struggle “because it is better to die standing than live kneeling.”

Stop Being So Pissed Off!!!

2011-07-31T12:46:00.008+01:00

It’s pretty rare that we can go an entire day without being pissed off and stressed at something. Here are just a few things to think about that may help ease that everyday tension.

Note – ways to ease being pissed off do not include bubble baths, scented candles and listening to a CD of whale music.

Avoid Bad Bosses

Bad bosses, we’ve all had them and we’ve all wondered how the hell they got to the point where they now have the power to tell us what to do, to actually have the legal right to order us around all day. Bad bosses can piss you off before they even say a word just by entering the room. As in the film Horrible Bosses, bad bosses don’t know that half our working day is spent productively on thinking up ways to make them die without actually having to take the rap for it; you know your work colleague would thank you for it. Why are they always so Hitlerish about time keeping? Two minutes late and they give you verbal abuse in front of the entire office. They never praise you to the hilt if you work two minutes past finishing time. So what if I take a few sick days off? You don’t own the company, I’m not stealing your wages. Bad bosses suck and what pisses me off even more is they don’t even realise it.

Stop Watching Reality Television

I don’t own a television so this is something I have managed to avoid for a long time. But with the advent of television online I find myself slipping back into watching those people we love to hate. The people on reality television shows such as Big Brother are picked specifically because the producers know they will piss the public off in some way. This will guarantee repeat viewers waiting on the moment when their object of hate will get their comeuppance either through verbal or hopefully physical violence from others. On the other hand, after a stressful week at work having to endure the idiocy of dick-head work colleagues it’s always nice to have someone to vent your anger at.

Stop Looking at Everything as a Sign

Everything that happens that seems a little bit out of the ordinary is not a sign of something, and if you keep believing that it is you’re just going to end up pissed off when nothing amazing happens. Having an itchy hand is not a sign that your lottery is about to come up. That flock of blackbirds that flew overhead, ooooh that must be a sign of something, look it up in your big book of pointless irrelevant everyday signs, it must mean something. No it doesn’t mean anything, and your horoscopes aren’t real either, so stop reading them first thing in the morning. If you must read horoscopes then make up your own, at least then you will have a greater chance of some of it coming true.

Quotations; You’ll Forget them Instantly, Why Bother?

Famous quotes on Facebook, I do it, I sometimes steal other people’s quotes and stick them on Facebook. I think wow that’s interesting, kind of deep, I’ve got to remember that quote when something stressful happens. Then I see that it’s an FB friend’s birthday (and spend ten minutes trying to think up something witty and just put down what I always do, ‘Happy Birthday, have a great one’) by the time that’s done with I’ve totally forgotten that all important quotation. These quote are great usually and can make you ponder in an imaginary beard stroking way for at least 35 seconds but when it comes to actually really helping in a stressful situation they are about as much use as sticking a band aid over a shotgun wound. If you had a friend who kept saying things such as ‘If you only do things half-heartedly then you are only ever going to be half-happy” whenever you were stressed you would punch them out or at least shout, “Stop with the quotation madness for the love of god, I’ve just lost my leg.” If I am feeling stressed the only quote I want to hear a friend say to me is, “Pissed off? Let’s go out, get drunk, get laid. Good times.”

Accept That You’re Getting Old

We all get old, we all put on weight, we all get wrinkles, deal with it, accept it. Your hair is thinning or turning grey, well you’re on the wrong side of 40, what do you expect? You would look pretty weird with a luxurious head of hair at that age unless you’re starring in a magic act in Vegas. It’s called the aging process and nothing but nothing is going to reverse it. Concreting your face with botox is not going to make you look any younger, in fact you’ll simply look like a walking embalmed corpse, the opposite look I’m assuming of what you were hoping to achieve. Once you realise that this is it, and it’s only going to get worse as you age not better, then you can say, “Fuck it, I don’t care” and that’s the first step to truly letting go.

Aim for Under Achievement

It’s a scientific fact that under achievers lead a significantly less stressful life than their dynamic colleagues and friends. Actually that’s not a fact, I just made that up. But if we keep spreading that ‘fact’ around, people may start to believe it and I won’t have to feel guilty about not trampoling out of my bed every day at some inhumanely early hour, creaming my pants with joy that another 24 hours awaits me. Start your day off downhill and keep going that way, it takes a lot less effort.

A quote from Mick Jagger to remember (I know this goes against the ‘no quotes’ point) that may help when trying to achieve a less pissed off life, “You can’t always get what you want”……..and that’s it, forget the second line, you sometimes won't even get what you need either….that’s life, deal with it.

Rupert Murdoch Hearing; Ignorance is Bliss.

2011-07-20T17:01:00.001+01:00

Will the public ever know the entire story when it comes to Rupert Murdoch’s shadowy world?

I have lost a day to the Murdoch hearing. I intended only to watch for a few hours but became completely hypnotized and/or bored into a coma and ended up watching at least six hours, hooked until the very end when Rebekah Brooks took her onstage bows to an unconvinced audience. No one should have really expected anything other than denials, ignorance, blame shifting and apologies from all who testified at the hearing. Murdoch Senior’s first statement was that, “This is the most humble day of my life” or in other words, “please feel sorry for me and make sure this statement makes the headlines in all newspapers.”

I did miss most of the now resigned Met Police Commissioner Paul Stephenson’s appearance at the hearing due to an interrupted Wifi signal. Stephenson was up first at the hearing but no one really expected anything but denials and blame shifting from the Met Police. The British public are well aware of the corruption that goes on in the UK police force. This corruption has existed for years and will continue to exist thanks to the lack of accountability and the ever increasing amount of power the police have been granted by the government. The UK police can kill people and get away with it so bribery and corruption doesn’t come as any surprise. But bribery and corruption between News International and the police and Members of Parliament should be the focal issue. Repeatedly calling this a ‘phone hacking’ scandal is missing the bigger picture of the corruption that is all too evident among the British establishment.

But the public had tuned in to see the Murdochs and Rebekah Brooks; the villains of the piece. Murdoch senior gave a convincing portrayal of a frail old man rather than the master manipulator and influencer he is widely regarded as. He came over as someone who wasn’t really sure of what was going on or that he should have even lowered himself to be there and constantly tried to divert questions over to his son. Murdoch Snr feebly banged his hand on the table when making a point and denied any knowledge of wrong doing due to the fact that his British newspapers and the journalists who work for his company were a tiny part of his empire and he employs 50,000 people; how was he expected to keep track of them all? If that is the case then who knows what the rest of them get up to without Murdoch’s knowledge, and that is the line of defense Murdoch wanted to put across. He was not aware of what was going on. When Murdoch Jr was asked if he knew what the term ‘willful blindness’ meant he claimed he had no knowledge of that term although Murdoch Snr stated that, “We have never been guilty of that.”

Murdoch Jr talked a little, perhaps one or two sentences, about the pay-offs that had been given to Rebekah Brooks and the confidentially clauses that were included, all the while maintaining that transparency was an important key issue of the hearing. Transparency and confidentially clauses are contradictory terms. Confidentiality clauses are set in place so that employees cannot talk about information they their employers do not wish made public, in this case, knowledge that may hurt Murdoch’s empire. According to new reports, Rebekah Brooks, the former editor of The News of the World and News International CEO, was given a £3.5 million pay-off when she resigned from New International. Confidentiality clauses were in place meaning she was legally bound to keep her mouth shut about issues that the Murdochs didn’t want made public.

Confidentiality clauses are not to be taken lightly and breaking these employment terms and conditions can have serious consequences. The case of Jeffrey Wiggand comes to mind with regards to confidentiality clauses. Wiggand was a Brown and Williamson tobacco research and development employee who blew the whistle on the company about the addictive ingredients that were added to the company’s cigarettes. Wiggand endured harassment and death threats throughout the case but was also threatened with incarceration if he broke the confidentiality clauses included in his contract. Confidentiality clauses are designed to protect the company, even if this means that employees are aware that wrong doing is taking place, wrong doing that it would be in the public’s best interests to know about.

Back to the hearing and it was obvious that although the need for transparency was mentioned by Murdoch Jr he had no intention of actually admitting to anything. Murdoch Jr followed a set pattern when answering questions, which basically included repeating the sentence, “That is a good question and it’s an important question and I would like to answer that question but I don’t have that information at the moment.”

With Murdoch Snr sitting with a glazed expression and Murdoch Jr apparently using the mantra approach to answering questions the entire hearing did have a farcical feel to it. The farce then turned to slap-stick with the appearance of the pie man. Jonnie Marbles, a stand-up comedian, had managed to enter and then sit in the hearing with a foam filled plate. Marbles tweeted a few lines during the hearing such as, “Murdoch is Mr Burns’ and “It is a far better thing that I do now than I have ever done before #splat” before sauntering down to where Murdoch Snr was sitting to thrust the foam pie into Murdoch’s face. Murdoch’s wife was having none of this and sprang into action to deliver a stinging blow to Marble’s face. You got the feeling that this was something she should have done long ago to Murdoch Snr, perhaps it was misdirected anger.

Rebekah Brooks finally arrived and gave a valium induced performance. Brooks came on stage after the Murdochs as an indication that she is the one to blame, leave the best until last. Brooks has been viewed as either the fall guy of the entire scandal or as the one who is entirely responsible. For some reason Brooks seemed to be the star of the show here. Would she do the right thing and let something slip that would incriminate the Murdochs? Would she say screw the confidentiality clauses and the £3.5 million, here is the truth of the matter? Would she stand up to the might of the Murdochs?

Brooks sat in the room, which was now empty of the public thanks to Marble’s surprise attack. The security team that let Marbles in with his pie had now decided to clear the room as a security precaution. So whereas the Murdochs had a packed audience Brooks sat alone, looking tired, with her head constantly bowed. With her mass of red curls she looked somewhat similar to Little Orphan Annie or maybe her older more cynical sister. She did at least try to answer some of the questions fired at her. But with confidentiality clauses in place we were not going to get the entire truth or anywhere near the truth from Rebekah Brooks. At the end of the hearing she did state that she hoped that in the future when she was free from ‘legal constraints’ she would be given the chance to appear again to answer questions. Yes Rebekah/Annie, the sun will come out tomorrow, on Sunday’s if the rumors are correct.

And so with the hearing over and my coffee buzz reaching critical levels my mind started to reassess the dark maze that was the ‘phone hacking’ scandal, focusing particularly on the death of Sean Hore. Hore was the whistleblower in the scandal, the first journalist to admit that Andy Coulson knew that his staff were using phone hacking methods to obtain stories. Coulson, a former News of the World Editor and more recently Prime Minister David Cameron’s communications director has since been arrested and questioned on allegations of corruption and making pay-offs to Metropolitan police officers. According to Hore, Coulson had actively encouraged him to use hacking methods to obtain exclusive news stories.

On the 18^th of July, the day before the Murdoch’s hearing, Sean Hoare, a man described by those who knew him as an old school journalist and a man who took no payment for telling his story and naming names was found dead at his home. The police stated that Hoare’s death was unexplained but not suspicious and that no third party was involved in his death. Hoare had stated on the phone hacking scandal that, “There's more to come. This is not going to go away." Hoare was a journalist who couldn’t be bought off and was not going to shut up about what he knew. In fact only a week before the hearing Hoare was talking to the New York Times about the mobile phone technology provided by the UK police in exchange for payments from News of the World journalists.

In the world of conspiracy theories there are many that can be made from Hoare’s death. As the corruption allegations are now being investigated in Murdoch’s empire worldwide theories include that Hoare was murdered to shut him up and as a warning sign to others to shut up. If anyone at the Murdoch hearing had decided to come clean and break their confidentiality clauses the unexplained death of Sean Hoare the day before the hearing would definitely make them think twice about doing so. Another theory has been touted that Hoare was murdered by a third party to place further suspicion on Murdoch and to help with the deterioration of his grip on his empire. Of course maybe the 40 year old Hoare simply died, in an unexplained manner, the day before the Murdoch’s hearing. It's a perfectly reasonable coincedence.

News reports are now edging towards questions about Prime Minister David Cameron and his extent of knowledge and involvement in the scandal. David Cameron was after all a friend of Rebekah Brooks, employed Andy Coulson as a member of staff and had frequent meetings with Rupert Murdoch. It was mentioned at the hearing and admitted by Murdoch that whenever he was invited to Downing Street by Cameron he had to enter and leave by the back door. One of those back door visits was made in order to help Cameron celebrate his victory in the 2010 general election.

There is no doubt that Rupert Murdoch and his media empire hold a huge influence throughout the world, especially where politics and business go hand in hand. His company owns Fox News, and Murdoch supported Bush and the Iraq war. Fox News held a pro Bush and pro Iraq War stance and Fox News reports were designed to influence the public in favor of the war. Murdoch is a man who can influence the public into supporting illegal wars. He uses his media corporation to influence others to his agenda but it seems as if the walls of Murdoch’s global empire are now crumbling, or at least that is how it appears to the world.

As Sean Hoare stated, “There's more to come. This is not going to go away." But will the public ever know the entire story when it comes to Rupert Murdoch’s shadowy world?

Fear of Failing; It's All About Perspective

2011-06-17T17:17:00.001+01:00

These fears we build up into major anxiety mountains are usually unfounded. Once you have actually confronted them the fear does disappear.

So this week I took part in a radio show for a Liverpool radio station. The show’s topic that night was on bigotry and the producer had read an article I had written on the subject and invited me onto the show to talk about it. I had my reservations about this as a) I am not a human rights authority and don't want to set myself up as any sort of spokesperson and b) having my voice broadcast to around a million listeners (allegedly) is my idea of hell. But the bigotry article was written for a company I used to work for who had recently been hit by Google’s Panda and had seen a significant decrease in their site traffic and I thought that maybe promoting their site on air would help them.

The other reason I decided to do it was that I knew I was scared to, and there is a line of thought that fears should always be confronted in order to pass through them. This ‘confront your fears’ theory doesn’t always hold water. I’m scared of jumping into shark infested waters but that doesn’t mean I should don a wet suit and head out to the Great Whites’ breeding grounds. So even though my inner voice was saying, “don’t do it mate, you’re gonna’ look a nob” I said ‘what the fuck’ and agreed to talk.

I am not a spokesperson on bigotry. Yes, I’ve researched and written many articles on the likes of Nick Griffin and the BNP and I find bigotry of any kind pretty repulsive. The bullying mentality of bigots, the fear, ignorance and intolerance of anyone who does not fit into the bigot’s ‘view’ of how the world should be and what makes a ‘normal’ person is completely irrational to me. If bigots actually looked at the reasons why they act the way they do they may actually begin to question their own views.

A lot of bigoted views are handed down from parents. Nick Griffin, the BNP leader, was taken to his first National Front meeting at the age of 15 by his parents. The father of the French National Front leader Marine Le Pen is the founder of the National Front. In most cases it doesn’t take a huge leap to find out the reasons why bigots are the way they are. To me it’s not about being politically correct; a bullshit label that has just given bigots the excuse to say, “Oh it’s political correctness gone mad, you can’t say anything now.” There is a big difference between comedians such as Sarah Silverman, Lenny Bruce, Bill Hicks etc making a point through humour that isn’t seen as ‘politically correct’ and a taxi driver coming out with the statement, “Hitler didn’t kill enough of them” on the subject of Polish people working in the UK.

Anyway, by the day of the radio interview my anxiety levels were set to ‘freaking out’. I had done plenty of research but I should have listened to the radio show first as this wasn’t an in-depth radio show tackling the wide range of issues that make up bigotry. The interview turned out to be a 15 minute conversation and I did have trouble answering some of the questions that I was hit with when put on the spot. These were questions about people who use the 'race card' to their own advantage. The ‘dead air’ time as I frantically searched for answers to those specific questions seemed to stretch so long that I could actually see my life flash in front of my eyes.

The interview was prerecorded and meant to sound as if I was sitting in the studio casually chatting to the presenter but my mobile phone cutting out on me repeatedly and then my asking the presenter, “Can you hear me? Are you still there?’ every few minutes soon dispelled the one on one studio interview illusion. For some reason the scene where Albert Brooks in the film Broadcast News gets inflicted with a severe case of flop sweat as he reads the news came to mind.

In the end I didn’t actually listen to the on-air interview; I couldn’t put myself through that sort of torture. I know my voice varied from sounding as slow as a weekend stoner to Mickey Mouse on helium complete with sentences that trailed off into a low rumble on a few occasions, all within 15 minutes. I don’t think the presenter was that happy either with the interview as he ended the conversation with the killer put down, “Well you’re an interesting man.” This is basically another way of saying, “Well that was a load of shit wasn’t it?” or as my friend kindly put it, “He said you were an interesting man? That means he thought you were a dick.” When the interview was over I asked, “Was that okay?” to be greeted with, “yep, fine” and then the click of the telephone being hung up on me.

The rest of the four hour radio show was supposed to be calls from listeners. I think two people phoned in on the subject of bigotry, and I’m sure one of the callers was the presenter’s friend who talked coherently, clearly and longer on the subject than I did. Someone did call in about having their unemployment benefits cut but I think they had just called in on the wrong night.

With a few days breathing space I can now say it was no big deal. I should have just went on and talked without all the in-depth preparation, there really was no need for it. I’m glad I did it for the experience alone and I now have a newfound respect for people who can go on-air live and talk calmly without any fear. These fears we build up into major anxiety mountains are usually unfounded. Once you have actually confronted them the fear does disappear. If only the bigots out there would use the same reasoning life would be a lot simpler for everyone.

If you're not failing every now and again, it's a sign you're not doing anything very innovative - Woody Allen.

Cafe Charbon, My Favourite Bar (so far) in Paris

2011-05-22T23:17:00.009+01:00

Thought I would stick this picture up. It’s a painting by Andrew Gadd of my favourite bar in Paris, the Café Charbon.

The Café Charbon is a much loved bar/restaurant in what is also my favourite area of Paris so far, the vibrant Oberkampf neighbourhood. The Café Charbon boasts wide windows in which to sit and people watch while sipping wine. With its high ceilings, hanging lights and little booths it really is a beautiful and atmospheric bar in which to while away a rainy afternoon or evening in Paris. Been here twice but strangely have not been drunk in this place; have left that till after, although a few bottles of the best red wine I have tasted were consumed while sitting at the bar. It does get pretty packed on weekend nights though so get there early if you want a seat at the bar; and then don't even think about going to the toilets as your seat will be taken when you get back.

A tip from the Café Charbon bar staff - if you drink water with or after your wine it will get you drunk quicker. Something to do with the alcohol getting into your bloodstream quickly, not that I’ve ever found it hard to get drunk. The bar staff are very laid back and even filled my friend’s bag with ice in which to keep her champagne chilled on the way home. There is a Café Charbon in New York on the lower East Side now but the Café Charbon Oberkampf is the orginal.

Definitely worth a visit if in Paris.

The Hardest Thing About Being a Writer

2011-05-22T18:39:00.002+01:00

Procrastination is a killer for a writer, as are other writing jobs that are a necessity to bring in money to survive.

With plenty of spare time on my hands at the moment I’ve been trying to rekindle my interest in finishing the ‘novel’. This has been an ongoing writing project for around eight years; ongoing as in it’s always in the back of my mind but real life has had a way of keeping me away from it.

Procrastination is a killer for a writer, as are other writing jobs that are a necessity to bring in money to survive. My writing jobs have definitely had an impact on actually writing for the love of it. When you have written a few articles every day as a job the last thing you want to do is sit down and try to conjure up some creativity. There are always other things to do instead of writing the damn book. In the past, when I didn’t have to write, as in when I did jobs that had nothing to do with writing, it was much easier to put the brain into writing gear at the end of the day and come up with some short stories or another chapter of the book. Maybe it was because those Mcoffice jobs as a temp worker in London gave me plenty of time to simply sit and think about what I wanted to write about.

Many writers have their ‘hardest thing about being a writer’ list. One wit said that the hardest thing about being a writer was cleaning the refrigerator. The author Ian Rankin said that the hardest thing about being a writers is, “any number of things: the panic that you’ll never have another good idea as long as you live; the struggle to make each new piece of work better than its predecessor; the fear that you really don’t know if something is any good in the first place.”

I went back to the book the other night, reread the 150 pages and they didn’t seem too bad. What I mean is there was no cringe factor; I’ve read short stories from years ago written when I was in my twenties and the cringe factor was higher than watching an X-factor audition show. After rereading I wrote another 2000 words, and to begin with it wasn’t easy. It was like trying to fit into a pair of jeans from a decade ago after your waistline had grown a few inches. But after the first few hundreds words it started to get easier, the ideas about where this book was going once again began to take shape again. Even when I turned off the computer the ideas about what to do next in the book kept hitting me and I had to write them down so as not to forget.

But it is still slightly torturous, so why bother? The writer Paul Auster said, (about writing) that, “You don’t choose it so much as get chosen, and once you accept the fact that you’re not fit for anything else, you have to be prepared to walk a long, hard road for the rest of your days.” Even if you decide to abandon it, like an artist who decides to paint walls instead of canvas because his or her paintings aren’t selling and money is needed, sooner or later you will return to it, you don’t really have much say in the matter. I have no idea why I write, I try not to think about it. It’s something that is in my head every day, and sometimes I wish it wasn’t.

Sometimes I wish I could just find a job I would enjoy that I could simply do with no hassles and bring in a steady wage, etc. But I know that for me that would be a compromise, I wouldn’t be doing something that I love. I have worked in many non writing jobs for many years and never really enjoyed any of them; in fact I’ve pretty much hated every fucking one of them and felt that I was simply wasting and killing time - and killing time, especially eight hours every day, sucks.

I’m writing this and once again procrastinating when I should be writing the book. But to me this is a warm up at the starting line, it’s enjoyable for me and easy to do. Hemmingway said, “It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.” Whether I finish the book or not it’s part of the journey, but maybe I’ve been enjoying writing the first book for too long now, enjoying the idea of it, and now it’s time to finish it. You can’t enjoy the taste of that first cigarette forever, you either have to move onto the second one or quit altogether, and for me, it seems, quitting isn’t really an option.

New Talent - Valentina. EP - Weights.

2011-05-20T19:04:00.009+01:00

Stunning debut EP from London based singer/songwriter Valentina.

It’s very rare, for me anyway, to find a new singer/songwriter and think, “Woh, that's really good, it’s actually making my skin tingle.” It’s even rarer for me to then buy the person’s CD when there are a few other ways to get it that doesn’t involve actually paying hard earned cash. I have thousands of songs on itunes but I always seem to end up playing the same music repeatedly so it’s always good to find a band or singer that can actually make me listen to new stuff. But the 25 year old singer/songwriter Valentina from London has managed it.

Italian born Valentina Pappalardo has been described as sounding along the lines of Joni Mitchell but as I can’t actually remember any of Joni Mitchell’s songs (the shame I know) I will have to obtain a second opinion on that one. Valentina has just released her first EP called Weights containing five songs concerning love (of course) and loss that were written during the breakdown of her relationship with her boyfriend.

For me the standout song is the seven minute atmospheric opener Weights in Your Shoes, which has a kind of Sigur Ros feel but with amazingly powerful vocals. Heart of Glass (no it’s not a Blondie cover) is another stand out song and there is a great acoustic version although I prefer the EP version which takes off on a beautiful spiraling crescendo.

Valentina; best thing I’ve heard this year.
Buy her EP and say you were one of the first to discover her. As you can probably tell I don't usually write music reviews so listen to Valentina yourself and decide.

Valentina - Weights EP by facultydigital

Valentina - Weights, available on itunes and Amazon

The Single Person’s Midlife Crisis

2011-05-17T23:07:00.006+01:00

Can single people also have a midlife crisis but with the emphasis on the fact that they have never been married or had kids?

A couple I know are just about to celebrate their 15 year wedding anniversary. I know this because my friend who was the groom at the wedding phoned to remind me. I shouldn’t need to be reminded of this because I was his best man at the wedding, a duty I have undertaken twice in my life. It should be but for some reason isn’t one of those annual dates that sticks in my memory, and I think my friend is aware of this, hence the phone call.

I have no strong feelings for or against the institute of marriage but lately I’ve been giving the matter some thought. A lot of people in my generation married in their early twenties. To me, early twenties is still young, and you are not going to be the same person with the same attitudes in your twenties as you are in your thirties or even in your forties. Get married in your early twenties and you could have a grown up family by the time you hit forty and then what? According to the experts, this is one of the danger zones when it comes to the midlife crisis; the point when people begin to feel anxious about what to do after the children have left and the next big stepping stone of retirement looms out there on the horizon.

But can single people also have a midlife crisis but with the emphasis on the fact that they have never been married or had kids?

A few weeks ago I was out with a couple of friends in a bar, both married, both dads, both in their early forties. I had known them for years, since school actually. I hadn’t seen them regularly, maybe once every six months. The conversation focused on what had been happening since we had last seen each other. Then, when I stepped outside for a cigarette I came back to find that I had suddenly entered (cue Twilight Zone music) the ‘dad zone’. The conversation was now firmly focused, for what seemed liked the foreseeable future, solely on their children; I had only been gone five minutes.

After about twenty minutes of this I asked half jokingly if dad talk was going to be a staple for the entire night. I didn’t have anything to contribute to the topic of children having chicken-pox or how they were doing at school; etc. I was the single 44 year old who was not part of the club. The dad talk continued and I continued to drink feeling a bit like a child who had nothing to contribute to the adult’s conversation. I was brought into the conversation at one point only to be reprimanded for my smoking habit by the two non-smokers; sorry dad.

I’ve never felt anxious about not getting married or not having kids, it never used to bother me and still doesn’t really. I’ve been in long-term relationships, although admittedly never past the six year point. The marriage and kids thing had never really been on my mind before, although maybe briefly when it had been brought up in previous relationships. But the fact that I had noticed that night that I wasn’t part of the married dad’s club got me thinking, and then came the dreaded inner questioning. What have you done with your life? What are you going to do next?

While others from my generation had married and raised a family, what had I done? I had asked myself these questions a few years ago when my dad had died . When my father died I felt, for the first time in my life, old. Maybe old isn’t the right the word but there was a definite sense of time running out. My father had married at around 20 and by the time he had reached the age I am now, he had three grown-up children; now to me that is scary shit.

If some married people can have a midlife crisis about what they have done with their lives do single people have the same midlife crisis but with the opposite subject matter? Whereas the married midlifer going through this crisis tries to recapture whatever they think they have missed out on by buying a sports car and wearing clothes only fit for a teenager, does the single midlifer start thinking about the annual cost of raising children or tax allowances when married and the benefits of a permanent job with long term prospects and employee benefits such as gym membership, workplace crèche facilities and a good pension plan and family medical insurance and family holidays, and, and, and, STOP!

I have to now go and buy a 15 year wedding anniversary present and card. I think it will probably be best not to mention any of this when writing the congratulatory message inside the card.

Unlawful Killing Film Review – Was Diana Murdered?

2011-05-15T01:18:00.005+01:00

New film by Keith Allen investigates whether Princess Diana’s death was an unlawful killing or a cover up by the British establishment.

Let me start this film review by mentioning that I haven’t seen the film Unlawful Killing and at this point there are no plans to release the film in the United Kingdom. It has just been shown at the Cannes Film Festival but director Keith Allen will not release it in the UK due to British lawyers insisting on 87 cuts to the film. In the Guardian newspaper Allen wrote, “So rather than butcher the film, or risk legal action, we're showing it in France, then the US, and everywhere except the UK.”

The subject matter of Unlawful Killing is of course controversial. Its release, only three years after the inquest verdict of unlawful killing is guaranteed to have the conspiracy theorists excited. But as Allen says, “Unlawful Killing is not about a conspiracy before the crash, but a provable conspiracy after the crash.” A cover up conspiracy by the establishment including police chiefs, secret service, judges and newspaper editors.

Allen decided to raise the question of whether Diana was murdered after Michael Mansfield QC, one of Britain's most respected and long serving lawyers, "persuaded me that there were suspicious circumstances surrounding the crash, and signs of a cover-up by the authorities." The question of whether Diana was murdered was also asked by numerous journalists after her death. But as the inquest into Diana's death grew nearer those journalists and newspaper editors who were previously looking for answers, “suddenly fell into line, and started insisting that the inquest was a waste of time.” Allen, a much respected and well liked actor, comedian and filmmaker in the UK, although never one to shy away from controversy, approached every UK broadcaster to fund a television documentary on the subject but found all doors closed to him. In the end it was Mohamed Al Fayed, the father of Dodi, Diana’s lover who also died in the car crash, who ended up funding the entire film.

Just a few of the many points brought up in Unlawful Killing film include:

*Diana predicting her own death in a car accident in a lawyer’s note stating that her husband was planning, “an accident in my car, brake failure and serious head injury in order to make the path clear for him to marry”

*The royals were less than happy (an understatement) with Diana’s romance and possible marriage to Muslim Dodi Al Fayed

*Diana angered government ministers with her call for an international ban on landmines, which was out of step with government policy. Earl Howe the UK Junior Defence Minister called her a ‘loose cannon’ at the time

*All of the closed circuit television cameras in the Pont de l’Alma road tunnel where either not working or switched off the night of the fatal car crash in Paris

*Diana said herself that the establishment was not happy because she was trouble to them and she would not go quietly.

*Doubts raised over blood samples taken from the driver of the Mercedes, Henri Paul. A known teetotaler, Paul’s blood samples showed that he was legally drunk. But a report published in The Times stated that police expressed concerns that his blood sample was mixed up with another sample in the laboratory.

*No DNA tests were taken to prove that the blood sample actually belonged to Henri Paul

*A toxicologist claimed that blood tests proving the drunkenness of Paul were ‘biologically inexplicable”

*Over 100 important witnesses refused to appear or were not called to the official inquest

The conspiracy theories surrounding Diana’s death are never ending. The internet is awash with numerous theories including her murder at the hands of CIA and MI6 under orders from the British establishment. Allen is well aware of the problems that can come with conspiracy theories. Of the conspiracy theory frenzy out there surrounding Diana’s death he said that, “Unlawful Killing, was leaked on to YouTube and seized on by US conspiracy theorists, who immediately began claiming that the CIA had murdered Princess Diana, thereby allowing others to dismiss my documentary as mad.”

Until the film obtains a UK release it will be up to France and the US to watch and give a view. An open mind will be required to watch this film and take the facts to a conclusion. The inquest was closed with the verdict of an unlawful killing but it will now be up to the public to question whether that verdict was correct or a government cover up. This may all sound like an addition to a never ending conspiracy theory but as is mentioned in the film, “Presidents have been killed for less.”

For more movie reviews head to Tired of Previews

Life's Parking Tickets - Rip Them Up and Move On

2011-04-29T16:22:00.002+01:00

Today I was asked by a friend who is also a writer a question on the subject of what to write. She was trying to come up with a topic but was hitting a blank wall. When this happens I usually just don’t think about what to write but sit down and ramble, as I’m doing now. This piece of writing doesn’t have a subject or an actual point. So let’s pluck something from the air and give it a go, let’s talk about what happened during the month of April. For me April was full of gambles with no actual pay offs.

My employment took a dive and is now in limbo for the foreseeable future. Blame it on Google Panda, blame it on my restless spirit, if I believed in God I could blame it on him or is it her, I’m never too sure. Flights and accommodation were in place, the notice on my flat had been given and then suddenly the walls came crumbling down around me so to speak. When I set the wheels in motion for a different kind of future everything fell apart, it’s a lesson in being impulsive. It’s a lesson that maybe a back-up plan should have also been set in place. But who needs a back-up plan when the sun is shining and everything in the garden is rosy. Strike one.

My personal life, what there is of it, didn’t fare much better. I took another chance and again fell like a safe thrown from a skyscraper. But in the words of Californication’s Lew Ashby, “Life is just too fucking boring not to try.” Now under normal circumstances this pile of failure should leave a person feeling depressed but I find myself feeling surprisingly buoyant. Why is that? Personal and professional life in tatters I should be feeling at least a little down. But I think maybe it’s the fact that I at least gave it a shot, that I was still prepared to make the effort to change, that it’s not beyond me yet. I haven’t given in to hopeless realization that this is it for me. It’s when you give in and give up that you are really in trouble.

I actually had someone who offered to bail me out of the financial hole, which would have allowed me to travel abroad. But (another quote coming up) in the words of Jamie Conway in the novel Bright Lights, Big City, “There’s a certain shabby nobility in failing all by myself.” I wouldn’t have been happy making my escape unless it was under my own steam. These are all just blips in the road, they are life’s very own parking tickets and hopefully another street will be parking free with better things ahead.

So to the month of April, you tried your best but I just won’t let the bastards grind me down.

Procrastination

2011-04-29T15:24:00.001+01:00

See where your procrastination has led to....

So You Want to Be An Internet Writer?

2011-04-26T18:23:00.021+01:00

Internet writing tips, the Google Panda Update and the content websites that rule the internet.

Do you really want to be an internet writer? I mean internet writing as a job? A way to make a living?

It seems as if everyone wants to do this. Simply log on, write a few articles, maybe a blog, stick on some Google adverts, sit back and let the money roll in. Be your own boss, work in your pyjamas, travel the world and write from every port. If you’re connected to the net and can write you have at your fingertips a way to make millions .

Such bullshit.

Yes of course it is possible to make a living by writing content on the internet. Freelance articles, blogs, SEO content and even reviews and surveys for businesses. But don’t expect to log on and pick up gold from the street; all you will get is a hernia and a headache. The competition out there is immense. From the university graduates in India willing to write 500 words for $1 to the writers working for content companies such as Demand Media Studios and Wisegeek writing ‘how to’ articles for $3 to $15; everyone is trying to get in on the game. If you can string a few sentences together into a readable ‘how to’ article then you probably can make some money, but we are not talking millions here unless you actually are one of the major content producing companies.

I’ve been writing articles for five years and the well paying jobs are becoming scarce. Why would a company pay $50 or $100 per article when there are literate university graduates around the world willing to write content for a few dollars; a dollar stretches pretty far in some countries. But of course it’s not just the ability to write coherently on any given topic; you have to make it interesting. Most internet companies will also require SEO skills. Search Engine Optimization (SEO) believe it or not is a skill and you can tell the experienced SEO writers from the newbies. In fact strike that, you should not be able to tell if an experienced writer has used SEO throughout their articles.

SEO involves keywords placed throughout an article that will be picked up by search engines such as Google and will help the article rank higher when people are searching for a particular topic. For instance, in this article ‘SEO’ has been used six times so far; you see what I’m getting at? It’s all to do with meta tags, advertising and linking articles, and the rules change constantly. It’s highly, sort of boring stuff but not to everyone. A good SEO writer can practically do it without thinking and can make a huge difference to a website owner who wants to draw traffic to their site.

Okay, you are reading this on my blog. I don’t use SEO on my blog or advertising. This is why my blog hits for the past five years are laughably low but the point is I don’t care about directing traffic to my blog although I’m beginning to reconsider. I’ve only just started writing on here again and mainly use it as a back-up for writing that has been published elsewhere. But sometimes people will find an article on here because there have been enough keywords unintentionally placed throughout an article for it to be found by people searching for a particular topic.

If you really want to become a more employable internet content writer then read up on SEO, keywords, density, advertising etc and become skilled at it, there is plenty of information out there on the net. This is a marketable skill sought by website owners who are looking for content writers. When I say marketable skill I use that loosely and because website owners and editors can still pick and choose and pay low money if they so desire; there are still plenty of people willing to write hundreds of words for very little cash, and of course it’s supply and demand and the economic climate.

Internet content companies such as Demand Media Studios and Wisegeek are popular on the net and extremely successful and employ a huge number of internet writers. They produce hundreds of thousands of keyword rich articles every year, and pay pretty basic money to the writers; Wisegeek pays $10 for 400 words, Demand Media Studios pays between $3 and $15 and is worth an estimated $1.5 billion. A lot of people do use companies such as Demand Media Studios as a way to make a full time wage and are quite happy to put in the hours to do so. Other writers call these companies scam artists in so much as they are making millions from the writer’s work and paying very little back. This article by Sophia Walker is her view on Demand Media Studios 'Demand Media Studios is a Fucking Scam!' I love the language used by Sophia here, it has offended a great many people on her blog but much to my joy she doesn’t care if others find her language offensive and she calls it as she sees it. There are few too many people willing to take a stand, writers especially, who are scared of hurting the chances of their next writing job. This is of course understandable if the company you are ranting against is worth as much on the public market as the New York Times, which Demand Media is, and operates many of the popular internet content websites such as Ehow, which Demand Media does.

There were more than a few comments on Sophia’s blog from others who disagreed with her. One that stood out was this, “who would hire someone who trashes their potential employer… Your attitude needs a major adjustment.” Now maybe that comment is true enough but really, should we all just shut up and say nothing, where then does that end? Sophia was expressing her opinion on her blog. If she wants to trash a potential employer so be it. I’ve trashed a former employer on my blog and it didn’t stop me from obtaining better jobs, in actual fact much better paid jobs than provided by my former employer who I simply told the truth about. Should we all just shut up in fear of the employer who wants a low paid employee to simply clam up and do whatever the employer deems necessary for them to live their golden money drenched lives? Whether justified or not, in a world full of internet trolls who hide behind the safety blanket of anonymity Sophia said what she wanted without fear of the consequences, and maybe if more people acted like that there would be less people working for a buck an hour. Her language may have offended and been jumped on by some people but that wasn’t the actual point of her article.

So, some people claim companies such as Demand Media Studios are a con, while others will write for them and bring in some extra cash. I have previously written about a content company called Wisegeek that I worked for. I won’t go into the details as they are documented in an article I wrote about five years ago 'Compost Bins, Contraceptives and Cuban Cigars' telling the tale of how I was ‘let go’ after writing almost 500 articles for 10 bucks an article. That was my first writing job and you live and hopefully learn from these things although it can at the time come as a slight shock to the newbie internet writer, and businesses employing freelancers can pretty much do what they want. But it was a learning experience and gave me some writing internet writing experience. No job route is plain sailing, and internet writing is no different.

Now the Google Panda update brings as new challenge for internet website owners and has had a major effect on the amount of traffic directed to websites. From the research I’ve read Google Panda is designed to get rid of crappy content poured out by content farms; websites that rely heavily on plagiarized or cut and paste content. According to reports there are many websites that have seen their traffic drop by around 50%+, even websites that do not use plagiarized content. Google of course rules the roost when it comes to search engines and pretty much has the final say because they are the most popular search engine.

In my opinion something should be done about the fact that Google has this sort of power; especially if non plagiarized websites are being hit. But then again this may make a difference to content factories spewing out rubbish that internet users have to wade through in order to find some useful and well researched information. I’m not talking about Demand Media Studios because I haven’t knowingly read any of their output. (Although it must be true that I’ve read at least some of the hundreds of thousands of articles produced by the company.) But for now I’m talking more about those sites that are little more than pages of gibberish or simply lists of links to other writer’s work. But it is interesting to note that Demand Media Studios has suffered a 40% drop in traffic since the Google Panda update, although the company itself has denied any such drop.

With the Google Panda update it should become harder for employers to put out content that is basically a cut and paste job. The novice internet writer could do themselves a favor and research and train in the world of internet publishing to give themselves a head start. There are university courses on creative writing that now feature internet writing and publishing as part of the syllabus. Of course you can simply learn as you go, get experience, use low paying writing jobs as ways to obtain published internet samples. Just like any other job it takes time to build up the experience.

But be wary of the hype. Don’t believe the con merchants and scammers out there who say they can show you, for a price, the easy way to make hundreds of thousands from internet writing. The hint is in the words "for a price." Don’t believe the many scammers on sites such as Craigslist who ask new writers to write seven new articles (unpaid) simply in order to judge the writer’s style before they will consider giving a job. If you want to be an internet writer, go ahead. It can be a way to make some money and set your own hours. If your writing is good enough and you can become popular with readers you may actually be one of the few who rakes in some good money.

I wrote this just to blow off some steam because I felt like writing today. Am I an internet writing expert, no, this is just my own experience, leave a comment and tell me yours. Will I make any money off it, nope. Will anyone find it interesting or worth reading, I don’t know. But it was enjoyable to do, and that’s an underestimated part of any job or creative endeavor, and can sometimes, occasionally, be worth way more than money.

Little White Lies (Les Petits Mouchoirs) - Film Review

2011-04-22T13:04:00.006+01:00

Little White Lies Director - Guillaume Canet Cast - Marion Cotillard, Benoit Magimel, Francois Cluzet, Gilles Lellouche Country - France Cert - 15

Little White Lies (Les Petits Mouchoirs) has been described as the French equivalent of the American classic The Big Chill, a film that attained worldwide popularity on its release in 1983. Little White Lies does follow the same theme of lifelong friends meeting up but in this case it’s an annual vacation and not a funeral that brings them together. But there is a precursor to this year’s vacation. The film opens with the motorcycle crash of one of their closest friends, Ludo. While Ludo, in a critical condition, recovers in hospital, his friends decide to take the annual vacation. What follows is a classic French exploration of personal discovery, and the title’s Little White Lies are the ones the characters tell to each other and to themselves during the vacation as a protective personal avoidance device.

Each of the characters is undergoing a personal crisis. The luminescent Marion Cottilard plays Marie, someone who was previously involved with Ludo but now continuously enters and then avoids relationships. Francois Cluzet plays Max, a man of generosity who owns the vacation home but has a need to remind his friends of the gifts he is providing. Max has in turn found out that the married Vincent is going through a sexual identity crisis with Max himself as the object of the unrequited desires. Then there is Eric and Antoine; one man desperate to regain the love of his girlfriend while the other oblivious to the fact that his girlfriend is about to break through his seemingly indestructible actor’s mask to reveal what is hidden inside.

What is apparent through all of the lies and mini dramas is the boredom that each character is struggling with. All are in their late thirties and early forties and are seemingly at a loss as to what to do next or how progress with their lives. Although seemingly close to each other they do keep a distance designed to protect themselves and avoid the dramas that are unfolding in each other’s lives. The dark shadow of Ludo also hangs over the sun drenched vacation, incessantly demanding that each character recognizes the selfishness of their actions and takes responsibility before it’s too late.

Little White Lies has a fantastic cast with some excellent acting throughout, and there are many moments of hilarious laugh out loud comedy that break up the drama. This is a film that lasts for 154 minutes and allows the viewers to invest the time it takes to explore the carefully drawn out characters. Director Guillaume Canet scored a hit with his last film, the excellent thriller Tell No One in 2006. Judging by the popularity of Little White Lies it looks as if Canet has another hit on his hands.

For more film reviews head to Tired of Previews?

Ask the Dust - Film Review

2011-04-20T13:19:00.009+01:00

“My advice to all young writers is quite simple. I would caution them never to evade a new experience. I would urge them to live life in the raw, to grapple with it bravely, to attack it with naked fists.” - John Fante

Starring Colin Farrell, Salma Hayek Directed by Robert Towne Rated R

This film review first published in the Adirondack Review

Ask The Dust, a novel by John Fante, was published in 1939 and then quickly forgotten. Over the years Fante’s novels have achieved critical recognition and many are held up as American classics; he was one of Bukowski’s favourite writers. Fante's work resurfaced on film in a major way in 2006. Robert Towne, screenwriter of Chinatown, has had a life-long appreciation of Fante and has spent almost 30 years bringing Ask The Dust to the screen.

The film sticks faithfully to the novel. Set in Depression-era Los Angeles, writer Arturo Bandini, excellently played by Colin Farrell, has used up his quota of optimism. Having published one short story Bandini is now living in a small boarding house and is so broke that he is smoking tobacco rolled up in toilet paper. Unable to write, he daydreams of meeting his muse, a woman who will take him on adventures that will lead him to write great novels.

Enter the fiery Mexican waitress Camilla Lopez, played by Salma Hayek. The relationship between the pair starts as one of mutual racial hatred; she is Mexican, he Italian. They both desperately want to be seen as Americans. Arturo and Camilla, like many others of their time, traveled to California to live a golden, charmed life. Instead, they have found reality in seedy boarding houses and broken dreams.

With Camilla, Arturo finally has something to write about. He is living his story without even realizing it. The experiences he so desperately craves are materializing all around him; he and Camilla are the story. The pair are slowly falling in love while pushing each other away because of their own prejudices. Arturo's main problem is that he desires the life experiences that will help him to be a better writer, but is -at the same time- wary of such experiences. This is evident when the pair take a midnight dip in the ocean. While Camilla dives naked into the crashing waves, Arturo hesitantly creeps into the water, keeping himself covered. The same thing happens when Camilla offers herself to Arturo. The fear of experiencing what life has to offer is holding Arturo prisoner.

Intertwined within the main story are a fine supporting cast of misfits and losers, each with their own broken dream. Donald Sutherland plays Arturo's drunken neighbor Hellfrick. Idina Menzel is Vera, a woman with a dark secret. Justin Kirk plays Camilla's abusive boyfriend Sammy. Towne, along with cinematographer Caleb Deschanel, has done an excellent job in recreating Los Angeles of the 1930s. The set almost makes you feel as though you have stepped into an Edward Hopper painting where you can feel the Mojave sands blowing through the open hotel windows.

Some viewers may well find the pace of the film a little slow. Writer's lives are always difficult to recreate on the screen and Ask the Dust is a true story. Camilla Lopez did exist and Arturo Bandini is John Fante as a young writer. The film takes us back to a time where coffee costs a nickel and dreams were even cheaper but the themes of prejudice and fear within relationships are still as relevant today as they were in the 1930s. It is a film that forces you to ultimately learn something from the character's experiences; do you follow your heart or do you let other people's values determine the story of your life?

For more film reviews head to Tired of Previews?

The Last Busker in London

2011-04-19T14:26:00.012+01:00

A few years ago a chapter of the book I was working on entitled London, An Unrequited Love Story was bought by a website called Orato.com. I had turned the chapter into a short story and the great Heather Wallace who was the editor of Orato back then saw this story on another website and bought it. Orato was a pretty exciting site way back when but now seems to be just another content factory. Maybe i'm wrong but a recent article of mine was cut to shreds on there by the new editors and became more of a 'how to' article than a piece of work that showed even a smidgen of the writer's personality. The only cuts made to the original story for Orato when this was first published were changes to the profanity but I could live with that. Because of the editor cuts I no longer submit to Orato and there is no way now they would accept or buy anything near this short story's length anymore. Only a few of my original articles are still on Orato and due to the length of this story, this isn't one of them. So here is the story. A revised edition of this story and four other London based tales in now available on Amazon for Kindle and as an ebook through Lulu.

Christmas Eve, the West End of London. It's an eerie feeling to be wandering around Leicester Square when it's completely deserted; I had never seen it like this before. No “hustle and bustle” on this, the supposedly busiest shopping day of the year in Britain’s answer to Disneyland. Three-o-clock and already the streets are empty, save for a few lone last minute shoppers, rushing home, their arms laden with brightly coloured packages, wrapped up warm against the biting London wind. The small, merry go-round which was part of the Christmas carnival in the square is being covered up with tarpaulin, protected against the drifts of snow blowing around the streets. The charity collecting Santas had all retired to the pubs to get drunk from their day's takings before going home and forcing their wives into an abysmal Christmas Eve legover, the vain hope lingering that maybe they could sleep through the torture of a whole day with the family and in laws that tomorrow will bring. Tiny Tim had shut up shop and gone to score some festive cheer to make it through the hohoho holiday season. No cold turkey for him. Tis the season to be wasted.

I walk on towards Piccadilly Circus, no real idea of where to go, just get out of this cold.

How I came to be cold and alone on this particular day of the year does not merit going into in great detail at this point, suffice to say that in the previous thirty years years leading up to today I had been dogged by a catalog of unrelenting failures and disasters in both my personal and professional life. A cacophony of girls had passed through my fingers, each one treated more carelessly than the last. Any money I had acquired had been gambled or pissed away and the self imposed exile that I now found myself in was a fitting karmic payoff to the debt of wrongs I had unwittingly inflicted on others.

The final straw had come with the breakdown of my last long-term but unavoidably doomed relationship with a girl nine years younger than myself. I should have seen it coming, a pattern had already been set in stone with my relationships. A three year use by date barcoded on each one. A year of fun and non stop sex and thinking that I had fallen in love, followed by a year of increasing boredom, unfaithfulness and suspicion, and finally an unbearably long year of recriminations and silences as we waded through mud towards the inevitable break up.

When I had kissed her goodbye and boarded the plane for a week in Spain with friends, I knew that when I got back my girlfriend would be gone but I didn’t realise how hard this one would hit me or the severity of the meltdown which would follow. This was my third and final shot at London. This time, I had to make it count.

I swung open the door of The St James Tavern, a corner pub just off Piccadilly. It was empty, or near enough empty for me to feel conspicuous.

“Pretty dire today.” I said to the lone barman.

“Yep, only the dregs left now.”

"Cheers mate." Wait, did he include me in the dregs?

I took my pint of Guinness and a Jack Daniels and bag a seat next to one of the huge windows, where I can look out at the other ghosts haunting the streets. A girl of about 20 passes by, blonde, very thin, very pale, heavy black shadows etched underneath her eyes. She is wearing a long shabby winter coat that looks about two sizes too big for her and she keeps rubbing her arms through the heavy material. Ten minutes later she walks by again, this time headed towards Soho, her face pained, still rubbing her arms. She had better find something quick or that pain is going to get a lot worse. She suddenly stares straight at me through the window as she passes by, and there it is, for a moment we have a connection, we have silently whispered hello, acknowledging each others existence. I’ve made up a history for her on the basis of a first impression, my own version of what her life consisted of and vice versa. I hope she’s put her imagination to good use and made it more colourful than the reality.

I know I shouldn’t really be drinking because of the depressant aspects that follow the main reason to get drunk in the first place, to feel happy, and even if it’s a false happiness I like the quick hit of optimism that comes with a shot or two of Jack and coke. I am thirty, I have no ties, no responsibilities, no commitments, no debts, how many people can say that? I’m in the West End of London with £400 in my pocket. I’ve a got a job and a roof over my head and a multitude of possibilities lie ahead. Sure I’m alone but I don’t feel lonely. Some people regard loneliness as a disease and to be honest, this is the first time in years I have been totally alone. No girl around to put my hand under her chin in the dead of night or feel her warm breath against my cheek in the morning when I awake, but this is just a temporary loneliness, a mild winter cold. The disease only becomes terminal when you don’t realise your alone, when you’ve become used to the silence and look forward to it when you get home at night. When you’ve forgotten what its like to be loved and in love and when you've given up on trying, that's when you’re in trouble. Shit stop feeling so sorry for yourself.

Always try and have the maximum fun with the minimum effort, live by that and time should pass quickly - in theory.

I down the double Jack and coke in one and head back to the bar.

10.30pm. Kings Cross, O’Neils and I am feeling no pain. I’m even enjoying Slade blasting out Merry Christmas into my ears for what feels like the hundredth time today.

“What...so what the hell are you doing on your own on Christmas Eve Cal?”

“Well what are you two doing here on Christmas Eve?”

I’m sitting with two guys, both twenty-something recruitment consultants who have been drinking since lunchtime and had already burned their ties in the ashtray as sign that the year was over and that new ties would probably be arriving from Santa on Christmas day. No one needs more than one tie. They had invited me to join them after seeing me sitting alone at the bar. Whereas normally strangers will avoid each other in London bars, the danger being that you could turn out to be a complete psycho after a few drinks, Christmas sometimes brings out the best in people, spirit of friendship and all that sort of stuff which usually only exists in a town called Bedford Falls in a film called It’s a Wonderful Life and has more to do with the alcohol consumed than the time of year. We are well on our way to drinking the bar dry. I look at my reflection in the wall mirror. I wouldn’t like to have your hangover tomorrow.

“I can’t go home because I haven’t bought my girlfriend a present, she is going to be so pissed at me, it’s this fuckers fault.”

“S’not my fault, I said we would just pop in here for one drink, you're the one that's been buying the doubles.”

“I can’t, I just can’t go home with nothing. D’you think she’d appreciate a four pack of lager?”

“More drink, more drink, same again yeah?”

Mick trots off merrily to the bar blasting out the drinks he wants on the way.

“So why you here again?” he asks me.

“Well my flatmate went home to Austria for Christmas,” I slur, “ and I couldn’t face another Christmas back home in Scotland, now I come to think of it, I’ve not been home for Christmas in about five years.”

“Oh thas bad, thas bad, you got to be with your family at Christmas, you just gotta’ be. Mick, Mick tell ‘im, dont'ya have to be with your family at Christmas?”

“ Shutuuup Brycey you maudlin bastard” Mick shouts planting another tray of pints and whiskey doubles on the table, “Christmas is just a big commercial rip-off designed by the advertising people to play on our guilt that because we treat out family like shit for the rest of the year we will feel pressurised into buying the most expensive bottles of perfume and boxes of cigars so that the guilt will ease and we can feel better and forget about them until birth or mother’s day comes around again.”

“So cynical for one so young,” said Bryce clapping Mick’s face, “but what about the kids, Christmas is for the kids, the little bastards, you got any kids Cal.”

“I don’t think so and that’s another reason for not going home, the three thousand questions I’ll get from my mother. When you going to settle down? When you going to get married? My brother and sister are both divorced, she seems to hold me up as the last hope.”

“But still, you're going to be on your own on Christmas day man, thas not good, you cant..be..on..ah fuck it ..more drink.”

“The bar’s closed Bryce, no more drink, time to go home and face the music.”

“Oh shit, I wish I was you Cal, all alone, no presents to buy, and no worries.”

“Well thanks for cheering me up mate, next time I think I’ll just phone the Samaritans though. Wait the bar’s shut, what time is it?”

“Ish nearly 12.”

“Twelve, shit I’ve gotta’ get the tube, they shut early tonight don’t they?”

I jump up and feel my legs starting to buckle, I’ve drank a lot more Christmas spirit and coke than I thought.

“Woh there, steady boy, thas it, thas it, your fine the undergrounds jus’ across the road.”

I say my goodbyes and try to walk out the door in a straight line, it’s difficult but I manage it. Over the road and outside the station, this is bad the doors are locked and the sign reads, “No more trains until the 27th December, Merry Christmas.” I look around, no night buses to be seen and I’ve more chance getting a ride on Santa’s sleigh than finding a taxi tonight. I stand for a minute and watch the last busker in London playing Silent Night on his saxophone. With the silence that surrounds me and the alcohol coursing through me, the notes that are floating into my ears have never sounded so beautiful.

I throw a ten pound note into his case just to reinforce that I am really drunk and walk on, knowing that it was a hotel or the street tonight. There is no way I can walk all the way to Wandsworth in this condition, even if I want to, my head will hit the pavement after an hour of pounding these streets.

I’ve been walking along the Caledonian Road now for about fifteen minutes and haven’t spotted any vacancy signs in the bed and breakfasts or small hotels that litter the area. It's started to snow lightly and the optimism I had felt hours ago had now disappeared completely. This place is scary; every now and then a car drives past and honks its horn. Keep walking, just keep walking. This isn’t how I should be spending Christmas Eve, wait, its now officially Christmas day, I should be tucked up in bed awaiting a day with loved ones, friends and family, Christmas dinner and the same old television repeats. A bit of cold and darkness and suddenly I’m getting nostalgic for a day I didn’t even like that much.

“Where are you off to mate?”

I jumped out of my thoughts, where had these three come from? Two guys and a girl appeared at my side

“Shit you scared me, just trying to find a hotel, kissed my last train home an hour ago.”

“You’ll not find anything around here, everything’s shut up for the night.”

The guy had a Scottish accent and although my instincts were telling me that this should make no difference, to be wary, the familiar sound of home and the amount of drink I had consumed was fogging my brain and telling me that these people were okay.

“What you been doing?” said the girl. She was quite pretty but in a rough, street sort of way, her age could’ve been anything from twenty to thirty-five.

“Just been out drinking with mates, Christmas you know?”

“You got any weed on you?” said the other, dreadlocked guy.

“No no, I’ve got some money though if you know where to score any.”

I know I shouldn’t have said this but what the hell, they seemed friendly enough.

“Man, how much you got, I can get some then we’ll go back to my place, it’s just round the corner, you can't be wandering around here at this time of night, its not safe ya’know.”

I fished into my pocket, brought out a twenty and handed it over.

“Aright,” he said, “ you three go onto the flat, I meet you there in about 10.”

With that he was gone and I had a sneaking suspicion so was my twenty. This must have been registering on my face as I stood there watching him walk away.

“It’s alright man, he’s okay, we share a flat together, c‘mon its too cold to be standing about here. Where you from in Scotland?”

“Dundee.”

“Dundee, aye I know it well, what part?”

“Fintry.”

“Aye wintery Fintry, been there many a time back in the day, stop looking so worried man, its alright, we’re just trying to help you out, Christmas and all that.”

“Yeah, yeah your right, just a bit drunk, paranoia working overtime that's all.”

We keep walking for about ten minutes making small talk until we came to an estate, blocks of flats that looked less than salubrious. Rubbish littered the streets, graffiti covered the walls and the place was completely deserted.

Finally after three or four flights of unlit stairwells we enter the flat. Shit what a dump. This was a bad idea, a very bad idea. The small living room consisted of two battered old sofas, a bed pushed against the wall and a one bar electric heater. The place was filthy. Damp is making the paper peel from the walls, open tins sit around the floor with forks sticking out of them. Ashtrays heaped to overflowing with cigarette butts and finished joints are scattered around the room. Luckily for me the alcohol I have consumed has robbed me of my sense of smell. A complete dive, although a London estate agent could probably make it sound desirable and flog it for well over the 100 grand mark.

I suddenly spot the works on the table. I knew it, junkies. I should have realised straight away from their shabby clothing and pasty skin. I’ve got nothing against drugs or junkies, I just don’t want to be in this situation while still drunk and with over three hundred pounds left in my pocket. So why when my mind is screaming at me not to be such a dick and to just get out of there did I say yes when the next offer came?

“You want a wee dram Cal, keep out the cold?”

I take the half bottle of Bells and take a slug feeling the warmth enter my veins and swirl around the back of my eyeballs as soon as I swallow.

“Good stuff eh?”

Before I could answer rasta comes walking into the room,

“Aright got the stuff no probs, you alright man?”

“Yeah, yeah fine just downing some whiskey.”

“Good for you but this stuff is better.”

He takes out a wrap of weed and starts to roll a joint. Ten minutes later and I'm feeling completely wasted, my brain is mush. I try to move from the seat but my legs have become 100% putty.

“This is strong stuff.” I can hear myself saying.

“Yeah it’s not bad,” said rasta, “but here try some of this.”

He produces a white china ornament, like a teapot only smaller and holds it out to me after he had sucked on the spout, inhaling deeply whatever was inside.

“This is the real stuff try it.”

“What is it?” I'm trying to focus on his hand as he waves it a few feet in front of me.

“It’ll make you feel good, come on Cal, have some faith, you're among friends.”

I don’t know what is in that jug but I am not wasted enough to try it because if I do there is no doubt in my mind that I will pass out and this is just too dodgy a situation to be unconscious in. The girl whose name I don’t know is now in front me. My pot-fogged brain has made her now look very tempting as she begins to rub my thighs with her hands.

“Come on Cal just try it, you’ll feel great.”

Her voice is very deep and soothing, as if her throat is coated with warm honey and I could drift of to sleep just listening to her. I desperately want to sleep now; my eyes are starting to close. I see her suck on a joint and then bring her face close to mine.

“You know you want to Cal.”

“I just want to drift, I want to..”

I feel her lips on mine, she blows smoke into my mouth, everything is slowing down, I am sinking into the sofa as she rubs my thighs harder, it feels so good, I am getting hard, wait, wasn’t she the other guy’s girlfriend. Shit. I push her off me,

“I gotta go to the toilet, where is it, the toilet?”

“Its first on the right man. You alright Cal?”

“Yeah, yeah, just need to use the toilet, I’ll be fine.”

I stagger into the small toilet and bend over the sink. My veins feel as though they had been stuffed with cotton wool, my face is burning up, I look at myself in the mirror, sort yourself out Cal, just get the fuck out of here. Throwing water over my face I suddenly remember the three hundred pounds, I thrust my hand into my pocket and bring out the roll,

“Cal, Cal you alright in there?” Rasta is pounding at the door.

“Yeah, yeah, just washing my face.” I croak, taking my boot off and laying the money flat inside.

Suddenly the door bursts open and he comes rushing in shouting,

“Whats goin' on man, y’all right?”

“Yeah I'm fine, just feelin’ a little shaky.”

He stares at me as I sit on the side of the bath easing my foot back into the bootine-height: 24.0pt; mso-pagitands there looking around, sniffing the air. Did he think I was holding out on him, smoking weed in the bathroom on my own? Paranoia Cal, calm down.

“Aright, shaky, come on I’ve just rolled another.” he said walking out of the room.

“Great, be right through.”

Screw this, I'm out of here. I push open the front door and stand on the outside landing. I was about three floors up, the place was pitch black, I wouldn’t have a clue where to go, it was a rabbit’s warren. Doesn’t matter, just get out of here.

“What you doing man?”

It was Rasta again he had crept up on me without a sound.

“Just getting some air, that’s strong stuff. Look is there somewhere I can get cigarettes round here, I’m out.”

I try to sound calm but we are both eyeing each other suspiciously.

“Yah, no probs there’s a garage just round the corner, hold on a minute.”

He appears a few minutes later with the Scottish guy.

“Need some fags Cal?”

“Yeah and I want to get some food, got the munchies.”

“C’mon then the garage is about ten minutes walk, cant be walking round here on your own, mind ah told ya its not safe.”

We start to walk back up the road. The notion to do a runner crosses my mind but I am definitely still on the wrong side of wasted. If a taxi comes past I can just flag it down and jump in, something is not right here. It may have just been my paranoid imagination but I had a strong, dark, apprehensive feeling gnawing into the pit of my stomach. We keep walking, none of us saying a word, I can see the garage up ahead.

“Get some crisps n’all, I’m starving.”

“Yeah no problem.”

I swing open the door to the garage shop, the fluorescent lights making me blink. The Chinese guy behind the counter stares at me as I grab a few bags of crisps and arrive at the counter. He probably had me pegged as a stoner as soon as I walked in.

“20..no 40 Marlboro.”

I look out the shop window and can see the two of them under a street light, huddled together, smoking, talking, stamping their feet.

“Can I phone for a taxi from here?”

“No phone, there’s a public one down the road but it’s usually bust, £12.95.”

I take out three crumpled five pound notes and slide them onto the counter, then walk out of the door.

“Aright Cal.” says Rasta

“Yeah, yeah got the stuff.”

I start walking, the two of them are walking behind me and that's when I hear it.

“Now.”

Rasta punches the side of my head and I hit the ground. I try to get up but I'm just not quick enough, another punch to the head and I'm on my back. The two of them are on top of me now. I throw a punch at the Scottish guy who slam's back to the ground. I don’t feel scared just angry and because of the drugs my legs and arms aren't working as fast as they should. Rasta throws another punch at the side of my face.

“Stay down and you won’t get hurt, stay down.”

How could I have fallen for this, all the warning signs were they from the start. Had I never watched bloody Crimewatch.

“Get his boots,” shouts Rasta, “the moneys in his boots.”

The Scottish guy is frantically trying to grab my boots as I kick and twist my legs in every direction.

“Just give us the money Cal, we just want the fucking money.”

He is saying this through clenched teeth, his mouth pressed so close to my ear I could feel his breath, spraying spit onto my cheek.

“Think you can smoke our drugs and kiss our woman and get away with it.”

“You fuck.” I shout and using what strength I've got left kick out my foot straight into the Scottish guy's face, hitting him square in the nose. I can hear the crack as it connects. He reels back taking my boot with him, money flying everywhere. They both started scrambling for the notes. I look up and see the garage behind me, the Chinese guy staring out of the window, watching us. As I push myself up a car pulls up in front of us, the police. Quick as a flash the two of them start walking along the road as though nothing has happened, I could see one of them counting the money. The cop rolls down his window.

“What's going on here?”

I move towards them, stumbling, “Those two mugged me, they’ve taken my money.” I said, beaten yet gasping to get my breath back.

The officer of the law looks me up and down from the comfort of his car, rolls his window back up and drives away, in the opposite direction from my muggers. I wait on the car turning round but they don’t, they just kept on driving. I wasn’t important enough for them to merit getting out of their nice warm car on Christmas morning.

I stand staring after them in disbelief, then I turn and look in the direction of my attackers but they're nowhere to be seen. They are going to have a good Christmas now, courtesy of yours truly. There's nothing else for it, I start to walk with leaden legs in what I hope is the direction of Kings Cross station.

Ducks, I can here ducks squawking, or is quacking? I open my eyes and focus, car horns blaring at me from the cabs going past. I sit up on the bench. My head is frozen, my jaw is numb and when I feel with my tongue, half my tooth, which had been a cap is missing. A girl wanders past the bench and then sits down next to me. She keeps staring at me until I look at her.

“Feels worse than it looks.” I mumble.

“You want sex?’ she asks quickly in a foreign accent.

I stare at her in disbelief.

“You know what I am saying, sex, blowjob £10.”

I pull out a cigarette and light it.

“It’s Christmas day, a holiday, shouldn’t it be free today.”

“No £10 blowjob, you understand”

“Look at me, my clothes are ripped, my face is battered. Do you think the first thing I thought when I woke up on this bench was, well now I’m in the mood to get my cock sucked by a total stranger.’

“Weirdo.” she gets up and walks away.

I feel like I’m going to throw up but manage to suppress it and throw the cigarette away. Searching my pockets I find a couple of twenty pound notes and jump into one of the waiting taxis.

“Good night was it son?”

Everyone’s a comedian.

“Just take me to Wandsworth.”

I slump into the back of the black cab, my whole head now throbbing and look out towards the huge advertising billboard we are approaching. Two of London’s finest examples of the metropolitan police, male and female, are flanking a huge jolly Santa, all three of them smiling down, their eyes following me as we drive by. I read the words which are coming out of Santa's fluffy, bearded mouth into a balloon, “Keep vigilant, keep safe, and have a merry Christmas in the Capital.”

Author Interview - Julian Gallo, Naderia

2011-04-18T15:15:00.005+01:00

“Maybe we are all deluding ourselves into thinking that life has any meaning at all. Perhaps we have to give it one, for ourselves” – Julian Gallo, Naderia.

The above line is one that permeates Julian Gallo’s second novel Naderia. At its core, Naderia is a search for meaning, a search that can occur inwardly and on a wider scale with or without the participant’s knowledge. Naderia is a journey, and the ever increasing and inescapable momentum propelling the characters forward is a defining theme throughout this novel. There is a destination but it may be one where the characters are no closer to discovering who they actually are or what life means to them.

Naderia initially focuses on the lives of Dario an American poet, Julia a Uruguayan painter and Antonio a Peruvian chef, all living in Paris far from their home countries. Like a family tree with many branches, all of the characters in Naderia are connected in some way, and the Butterfly Effect can emerge as softly as a summer breeze or as a destructive force of nature knocking the wind from anyone who stands in its way. It’s a simple role of the dice that leads the Uruguayan painter on a path towards the fundamentalist Muslim. The chef looking for a new life in Paris cannot escape the roots of his old one as he is relentlessly pursued by a woman he was simply once kind to. The poet takes a cultural road trip through Mediterranean Spain only to find that exploring his ancestor’s past doesn’t mean he can escape the demons from his own.

Whereas Gallo’s previous novel November Rust was character driven, Naderia focuses on the bigger picture and has a definite grandeur to it. This is a wide screen novel that explores religion, sexual and cultural identity, the search for a place in the world and above it all, the uncontrollability of life. It’s about how a seemingly inconsequential act to one person can forever change the lives of others. Naderia is an examination on the basic question of the meaning or lack of meaning to life. If the reader looks hard enough and keeps an open mind they may eventually find their own answer in this story.

Above all, Naderia is a joyously entertaining book and in some ways is a celebration of the journey of life. It’s an explosion of colors, cultures, humor and drama with an underlying heartbeat that drives the story onwards. This story can take the reader from the rainy boulevards of Paris to the sun soaked streets of Barcelona to New York where there is already another flight waiting to leave. There are some scenes in Naderia that should force readers to think about their own lives and the consequences their actions may have had on others, and for some this may be uncomfortable.

But there is no denying that Gallo has found his voice with Naderia and has crafted a multi-layered story that can well stand up to repeated readings.
Naderia is available through Amazon, Lulu and Barnes and Noble.

In this interview Julian Gallo talks about Naderia, the struggle of writing a second novel and independent publishing.

GC: So, gone are the experimental passages that peppered November Rust. Did you simply feel a more straightforward approach was necessary for the momentum of Naderia?
JG: This book took a long time to come into fruition. I finished “November Rust” in 2003 or early 2004. Almost immediately, I began working out the book that would eventually become “Nadería”. So for about six or seven years, I struggled with it mainly because I didn’t know which direction to take. I knew I wanted to do something different from “November Rust” and there were many false starts, many things that were written then abandoned. I was kind of at a loss. It was really a struggle of trying to figure out what kind of writer I wanted to be. Did I want to keep following the “Literary” route---which was what NR was attempting to be? I just didn’t know. Then I came across a novel by the Italian novelist Niccolò Ammaniti called “I’ll Steal You Away”.

Reading that book caused me to have an “epiphany” of sorts. It reminded me of the days when I was very young and I used to write without worrying whether or not the stories fit into any particular category, or whether or not they would be deemed “Literary” or “Mainstream” or whatever else. While reading that book, it struck me that the reason I was getting so blocked up was because I was standing in my own way and I needed to get out of my own way in order to move forward. I came to the decision that I wanted to write a good story, or try to, anyway, without all the gimmicks, experimental things or the worry as to whether or not what I was doing was “literature” or not. I’m in a much different place now than I was when I wrote “November Rust”. I thought it was time to do something different, something more straightforward. “Nadería” is my first foray into this new approach.

GC: There are about 10 characters in Naderia all with converging storylines branching out from three main characters. Was this intentional or did this occur as the writing progressed?
JG: It all came about through the writing process. When I started it, it was initially going to concentrate on the three main characters of Dario, Julia and Ana. The second half of the book was only going to be about Dario and his intended “quest” around the Mediterranean. Julia and Ana were going to disappear from the story altogether. When I reached the end of the first section of the book, I changed my mind and that was because of the introduction of the character Gloria. Once she comes into the story, the whole thing took on a different trajectory, one that I didn’t intend at all but I just went with it to see where it would take me. It was from that point on where I knew I had something very different from “November Rust” and it really helped me forge ahead.

GC: Gloria could have made for a humorous character but she soon becomes very dark. I found her an engrossing, infuriating and tragic figure in the book.
JG: Gloria was one of those characters that came up during the writing process. I was thinking that Dario has his issues he was dealing with, Julia certainly had hers, so instead of giving Ana the issue, I figured why not her love interest Antonio. What was he running away from? What was his deal? The idea of Gloria came to me as a way to have his past coming back to haunt him in a way. She was the physical embodiment of the place he was trying to get away from and put behind him. And you’re right, she is a very dark figure. Extremely so. Psychotic would be the better word for it. She’s the embodiment of total selfishness. She only cares about herself although she convinces herself that she is doing this out of “love” for Antonio. She’s single minded in her goal and nothing---not even her own child---is going to get in the way. The humor there is the fact that she would go to such extremes in order to satisfy her own desires, that she was ready and willing to do the things she does. And of course this throws a potential monkey wrench into everything Antonio desires: a new life, a new identity, etc. The humor I see in Antonio’s character is the fact that he’s trying to be more “European”, his desire to be the best French chef and all that but winds up working in a low grade South American restaurant, mostly cooking his native dishes. So in a way, it’s kind of like another hurdle for him to get over in his quest to reinvent himself. Gloria is his past coming back to bite him in the ass.

GC: All of the characters are on a journey looking for some form of meaning to life. How does this connect with the title of the book Naderia, which means ‘nothing’?
JG: Even though I wanted to do something different with this book, I wanted to keep my original intention in place, and that was to write a story about the whole notion of “meaning” in people’s lives. I wanted to raise the question, “Is there one, all encompassing meaning of life that applies to everyone, or is “meaning” something that we have to give our own lives? Not anything that hasn’t been done a million times before, of course, but I wanted to add my two cents to the discussion so to speak. So you have these three hapless individuals who are all on their own journey, each of them so wrapped up in their own shit that they don’t even know what they’re really searching for. They only think they do. They keep looking “outward” in order to find the answer that is something that I think is more “inward”. The title of the book comes from an interview I read with Jorge Luis Borges. In it, he got to talking about the idea of “Nothingness” and mentioned that, in Spanish, the closest word to “nothingness” was “nadería” and immediately I knew I wanted to write something around that and use that word as the title of the book. The word literally means “trifle; unimportant”. I loved the double meaning there so I wanted to explore that.

Also, in a time when many people often place a lot of importance on Literature in general---with all the raging debates about what is and isn’t literature---, I wanted to make the statement that what you hold in your hand is just a book. It’s just a story. It isn’t going to be something that was going to change the world. Very few books have actually had that impact, and lord knows this one isn’t going to be one of them. But to me, this particular story, wasn’t all that “heavy” to begin with. I tried to inject some humor in there---albeit a little black humor. It’s intended to be a good story, something entertaining while at the same time aiming to make the reader think about the point I was trying to make.

GC: Travel and different cultures play an important part in this book. I don’t think there are many characters who are actually from the country the story is set in.
JG: None of the characters are. All of them are from somewhere else. Dario is an American, Julia and Ana are from Uruguay, Antonio and Gloria are Peruvian, and so on. The setting of the book was really because when I began it, I had already set the story in Paris so I just decided to keep it. Of course, the story goes to Spain and New York as well. It was really just a way to reinforce the idea that here are a bunch of people who are “running away” so to speak in order to find themselves, again the idea that whatever meaning they are searching for is “out there” somewhere.

GC: There is a road trip from Paris through Spain that takes up a lot of the book. You went into a lot of amazing detail in setting the scenes on this trip. Did you undertake a lot of research for this?

JG: No, not really. That’s the funny thing. The 21st century offers writers a lot of tools they can utilize if they choose to do so. That particular road trip posed a problem for me because I never set foot in those places. I tried to figure out how I was going to pull that off and then two things occurred to me: YouTube and Google Maps. In order to really capture the atmosphere of these places, I went to YouTube and looked up videos of those who actually took this trip and videoed it. Believe it or not, it was there. So I was able to watch these home videos and get a sense of the landscape and the atmosphere. Google Maps came in handy with regard to how long the trip would actually take, what highways would be used, etc. The internet can be a very useful tool for any creative writer. Now a writer can do something like this whereas in the past they would actually have to go there to experience it.

Of course, it would have been much richer had I actually been in these places but since I wasn’t, that was the best I could do to try to capture it as realistically as possible. I’d been to Paris and Barcelona, so I was able to draw on my personal experiences and impressions there but as to the rest of the places, that’s what I did. Writers shouldn’t fear the internet but utilize it, especially if they are writing fiction. The world is literally at your fingertips. Some writers shun the internet as a distraction---like Jonathan Franzen---who once said that a “real” writer cannot produce any worthy fiction if they are connected to the internet. I emphatically disagree with this notion. I think it all depends on how you choose to utilize it.

GC: The road trip seems in a way to be the theme for all of the characters in the book. The trip is interspersed throughout and keeps a momentum going for the characters back in Paris.

JG: I suppose the “road trip” is also sort of symbolic of all the characters personal journeys. In a way, each one of them is on their own personal “trip”, reaching out blindly in order to find their place in the world. Dario literally goes on a road trip for his search, while for the others it’s more personal.

GC: There are no clear cut conclusions to this novel, there are a few loose ends and yet the ending is satisfying, as with all great books you need to make up your own mind.

JG: I’m glad you think so. I worried a little about that ending at first. Originally, there was a more conclusive ending to the book. Originally there was another seven or eight pages that sort of “wrapped up” certain things but when I was doing the rewrites for it, and I came to the part where the book actually ends, I thought it would be a good stopping point. I don’t know why but it felt stronger to me than what I originally had. I also thought that if the readers become invested in the characters enough, it would make them think about them more, wondering what came next, what would come next; not exactly a “cliffhanger” ending but something that doesn’t tie everything up in a neat little bow, mainly because rarely do things in life have such conclusions. Things happen, go one way or the other without any rhyme or reason sometimes and we never really have that sense of closure. I didn’t intend to have the “answer” to the questions the book poses.

GC: How do you feel your voice has grown since November Rust to Naderia? I can see a significant difference in the writing style between the two books. This one does feel more assured and confident for some reason.

JG: I don’t really know. I hope so. If it seems more confident it’s probably because I decided while I was writing this book that I was no longer going to concern myself with some of the trappings that comes with “literature”. There’s always been this huge divide and huge debate over what qualified as “literature” and what doesn’t. I understand that argument to a degree because there are such great, meaningful, powerful novels that have been written over the course of time that are truly works of art. But there are also a lot of really good books with really great stories out there that many wouldn’t consider “literature” because it’s either popular or it’s genre or whatever else. Not everything is meant to be “literature” it really depends on your own tastes. My tastes tend to run more “literary” but I enjoy some of the more popular and genre fiction too.

GC: Nadeira is more story driven than November Rust.
JG: This particular book was meant to be more story-driven, more character driven, so I decided I was going to strip away all the “trappings” so to speak and just try to write a good story. This book was influenced as much by Stephen King than it was by Hemingway or any of my other favorite writers. Lately, I’ve broadened my palate so to speak as far as reading goes. I’m reading everything from literary to popular these days. In my mind, there is much you can learn from all of it. What to do and what not to do. But in the end, it is what it is and ultimately, it’s the reader who will decide what you did is crap or not. Once it’s out there, you lose control over how people will react to it. Some will like it, others won’t.

GC: You are part of the Independent Author Network, what are the benefits of using this site?
JG: There’s been huge benefits from the Independent Author’s Network so far. Since becoming a part of that, and utilizing the social media along with it, word has spread about this book much further and quicker than I ever imagined. The whole network is very supportive and are really into the whole idea of independent publishing. It’s already sold a hell of a lot more in the past few months than “November Rust” has in the last five years. It’s not a stunning amount by any stretch of the imagination, by industry standards it’s extremely paltry, of course but for independent authors it isn’t a bad start. I’m just trying to get the word out about it and hopefully people will find it interesting enough to want to take a chance on it. It’s available in a lot more outlets than “November Rust” was, that’s for sure. I’m very thankful and appreciative of those who have bought it and read it so far. The reaction has been good so far and of course, that’s pleasing. It sort of validated what I thought about it to begin with because, as you know, every writer always has their doubts about their own work.

GC: Naderia has only been out for a few months now, what’s next on the writing front?
JG: I have another novel completed. This one brings everything back home. It’s set in Queens, New York in the early 1980s and it’s about how there were some people during the early part of the Reagan years that were still being left behind, despite all the optimism surrounding the times. It’s set in that time when things were still pretty bad, coming off the Carter era. It’s the 80s before it became “The 80s”. Those looking for that “80s nostalgia”---Culture Club, Madonna, Miami Vice, etc---are going to be disappointed. The story takes place before any of that happened. Reagan hadn’t yet lived up to the promise that those who voted for him had hoped for. It was still touch and go, really. The story mainly centers around a group of teenagers but like, “Nadería”, it’s a multi-protagonist story with converging story lines.

GC: You’ve now written two novels, are you considering the agent/publisher route?
JG: Every time I think about looking for an agent and shopping it around to publishers, I get confronted with the usual horror stories about how difficult it really is to get published by a major publisher. I never even submitted “Nadería”. I had planned to do that one on my own right from the beginning. So if I do go that route, I’m sure it’s going to be quite an experience. I’ve never done that. Just as an aside, independent publishing is a growing trend these days. It’s beginning to lose that stigma that the only reason why an author self-publishes is because it wasn’t good enough for the major publishers. In a lot of cases, I’m sure that’s true. In my case, it was just a matter of control over the material, to be able to have it exactly how I wanted. Naturally, there are pros and cons to this approach. I guess I’ll have to think about it more. In the meantime, I’ll keep promoting “Nadería” and keep working on the new novel I'm writing at the moment.

Sketches of London # 3 - How to Be Depressed in London

2011-04-18T15:11:00.006+01:00

Being depressed in London is easy, being depressed in any big city is easy. Everyone either looks miserable or sad anyway, so one more long face isn’t going to make much of a difference.

London is a great city to be depressed in. In London there are plenty of things to see and lots of angry people to argue with over the slightest little thing that will momentarily take your mind of your problems. And the great thing about London is it already has lots of depressed people, it’s teeming with them. You can’t pop a valium without tripping over a depressed office worker or an extremely morose homeless person. Depression in London has become an epidemic and really there should be some sort of congestion charge for this sort of thing. If the powers that be were smart enough they would make a killing from charging a fee in order to allow people the enjoyment of being depressed in London for a while. It could be a themed vacation. Another great thing is that if you are depressed in London other depressed people will naturally gravitate towards you; misery loves company.

I had moved to London after breaking up with a long term girlfriend. We had moved from Scotland to a town in England with the highest rate of senior citizens and over 80s in the UK. This meant we had moved to a town where there was a good chance that people would be decomposing right in front of our eyes as we talked to them; good choice! My girlfriend announced she was leaving after I returned from a holiday in Spain, actually she didn’t announce it she just wasn’t there when I got back, fair enough, I deserved it. I promptly became depressed, which was actually more of a feeling sorry for myself kind of state.

To add to the misery she took the television and left me with a radio. A radio that seemed to constantly play the song The Drugs Don’t Work by The Verve every time I switched it on, which was the number one song at the time I think. This song played even once is enough to place coma patients into a depressive state let alone people who have just been kicked to the curb. It was as if the DJ was just waiting on me getting up from the floor, (yes the floor, where I lay for about a week) and switching on the radio before shouting in that excited, annoying, dog humping a couch DJ way, “AND NOW THE VERVE.” The Drugs Don’t Work - a song that will drive anyone who listens to it enough times to ingest enough drugs to prove that The Verve were wrong and that the drugs actually do work. Thus I moved from the graveyard capital of the UK to London.

Moving in with an Indian stoner probably wasn’t the smartest move. She had also undergone a break-up and was as depressed as I was. Weekends would go by in a blur; we couldn’t even remember which films we had just finished watching. Most of our conversations would end and start with, “what were we just talking about?” Her favourite pastime was to come in from work, sit on the couch, light up a joint and say, “analyze me.” This meant I had to ask her a series of psychiatric type questions pertaining to her break up. She would then give me one of many vague situations or arguments leading to her break-up and I would come up with an overall assessment of why this reason added to her boyfriend walking out and why she was feeling the way she was. Secretly, I had my money on the pot smoking before, during and after work and the constant lava lamp gazing and tarot card sessions as some of the reasons for the boyfriend’s exit.

I got so good at the analyzing she thought I had some sort of psychic ability. Basically, there’s no secret to it - if you have been dumped by someone and then you are analyzing why someone else has been dumped it’s not going to take a huge amount of intense deduction to work out why. There are only so many situations that can occur in a break-up scenario. But my analyzing plus the immense amount of pot fogging her brain put me up there with some sort of all knowing mystic; I should have bought thumb cymbals and a zitar. This lasted for around two months. If I wasn’t also so stoned at the time I would have realized I could have started charging her money for this.

Next, moving in with my brother who had just moved to London after he had left his wife of 10 years was probably less smarter than moving in with the Indian stoner. This meant we could be depression enablers to each other, and like I said, London is a great city to be depressed in. Being depressed in London is easy, being depressed in any big city is easy. Everyone either looks miserable or sad anyway, so one more long face isn’t going to make much of a difference.

If you do want to be depressed in London don’t drink. The depression is enough; seriously, a drinking crutch is simply enabling the depression. If you do drink and you are even mildly depressed you will find yourself in situations that aren’t classed as normal weekend activities. You will end up at strange parties, drawn in by the music. You may end up at a wedding reception uninvited but for some reason welcomed as it’s, “good luck to have a stranger at a wedding,” drunk or otherwise. You may end up at all night raves in abandoned warehouses or wake up in strange towns with no memory of how you got there.

You may end up sitting talking to a prostitute as she smokes crack using a coke can as a pipe after you have just given her the money to buy the crack because you felt sorry for her for turning down her sexual services not knowing she was about to use the money to buy crack and not food and thus contribute to her downward spiral. You may end up at what seemed to be another great party judging from the music but actually turns out to be a Salvation Army gathering in a church hall and for some reason have your photograph taken standing in front of the entire congregation before stealing an umbrella as you leave because it’s raining out. You may invite a group of homeless people into a restaurant with you because once again you felt sorry for them only to be thrown out by the restaurant manager.

You may also wake up after a night in the police cells on intermittent occasions with no memory of how you got there but at one point the policeman’s farewell statement that you are the most paranoid person he has ever met may start to sound like an omen. You may end up in many strange, weird and sometimes risky situations with a slow nagging sensation beginning to creep in that maybe you are now unconsciously but actually actively looking to give yourself reasons to be depressed.

And yet when you have left all of this and more that you cannot remember behind you, you may begin to look back on it and think - being depressed in London, it really wasn’t as bad as I thought.

Sketches of London #2 – Sunrise in the City

2011-04-18T15:08:00.002+01:00

Sunday mornings in London are not all always about lying in bed with coffee and the Sunday papers. Sometimes they are slightly more hectic.

I’m lying on my back in the front passenger seat of the car.

“Oh you’ve arisen have you? You missed a great party mate. That’s always been your problem though, never could handle your drink.”

“Please piss off.” I’m still trying to assess what’s actually going on and what preceded my passing out.

I push the seat upright and look out of the window. It is still dark and we're driving through the City.

“My head is imploding here.” I groan, and rub my face. It feels sore, raw and dry.

“Why does my skin feel like it’s been put through a cheese grater?”

“Cant remember eh? You went for a shave last night. We were going to go to a nightclub and you said you needed a shave, so you left the pub and when I found you, you were sitting smoking a cigar having a cut-throat razor shave in the barbers next door. What was that all about, you didn’t even need a shave. You didn’t even make it to the club, passed out in the car didn’t you, missed the whole night. What a fucking shambles you are.”

“What time is it?”

“About five, I’ve been in my mate's house. You missed yourself, loads of drugs and girls.”

I look at Jeff’s face as he stares at the road laughing to himself. The glazed look in his eyes tells me that he is definitely telling the truth about the drugs, the white stuff crusting over his nostrils is also a slight giveaway.

Jeff was an old friend from Scotland who was down on a painting contract, walls not canvas. I hadn’t seen him in about four years and was taken aback by the change in his appearance. The youthful looks were gone, replaced with a layer of fat which I presumed was the effect of five years non stop drinking and bad diet. The hair was no longer shiny and thick, actually, there was no longer any hair. It had been cut so short that his scalp was showing through and the overall effect when I first clapped eyes on him again was that he had sent his father to meet me. He seemed to have aged ten years in the last five and looked closer to forty than thirty. He had obtained my phone number from a friend back home and after phoning me on Saturday I had half heartedly met him, knowing that it was probably a bad idea but having nothing else planned I went along, telling myself a few drinks wouldn’t harm me. How wrong could I be?

“You should slow down Jeff.”

“Fuck off I’m alright.”

We are in the heart of the financial district, The City, and Jeff is pounding the accelerator, gripping the steering wheel and weaving slightly across the road. I doubt he can even see straight. He slams a CD in and the Stones come blasting out of the speakers, “Gimme Shelter.” Appropriate enough.

“You beauty, have a drink.”

He swigs from a bottle of vodka and shoves it in my face.

“No, just fucking slow down Jeff, you're all over the road. Oh shit.”

Right in front of us, his arm outstretched, directing traffic at a junction was the enemy in blue, a policeman, and we were headed straight towards him, down a one way street.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” shouts Jeff, banging on the steering wheel

“Oh crap, look, wipe your face, it’s covered in shit." I shout.

We slow down, approaching the policeman who has his arm stretched out for us to stop. He looks me directly in the eyes.

“Ah well only one thing for it.” said Jeff.

“What are you doing?”

We slow down alongside the policeman who bends down to look in the car and Jeff suddenly stamps on the accelerator, throwing me back in my seat, and takes off. I can hear the policeman thump his hand on the roof of the car as we drive past.

“Gotta’ dump this car, get ready to run.”

Looking behind me I can see the policeman running and talking into his radio at the same time.

“You fucking idiot Jeff. What do you mean dump the car? Wait, is this your car?”

“Yeah, yeah. Right get out of here quick and help me rub off the finger prints.”

Jeff pulls the car over around the corner and we both leap out, wiping down the door handles with our coat sleeves. Jeff is muttering aloud non stop, incoherent, still on either a coke or speed buzz.

“Fingerprints, fingerprints gotta’ get rid of them.”

I stop and look at him.

“Jeff if this is your car your fingerprints are bound to be all over it you arse.”

He looks at me with sudden realisation,

“You're right, fuck it.”

And with that he tears off, sprinting along the road leaving me standing beside his shit heap of a car. I walk around the block, trying to act casually as if I always take a stroll around the city at 5.30am. I walk in a complete circle around the block and stand at the end of the street where I can see Jeff’s car. The car is now surrounded with five or six policemen who are checking both inside and out. I turn around and walk on; Liverpool Street Station is up ahead, down the escalators and towards the underground. People are milling around waiting on the first Stanstead airport train to leave.

“Hey, over here.”

Turning around I see Jeff coming straight towards me. I have to get out of here, away from him. The last thing I need is him hanging round me, trying to crash at my house.

“That was a bit close ‘eh?”

“You are a fucking idiot. There’s CCTV cameras all over the place in that part of the city and what are you going to do about your car?”

“Ah I’ll just have to say it was stolen. Then again, how about I say to them that you had some sort of epileptic fit and I was taking you to hospital? Come on you’ll back me up yeah?”

“No, no I won’t. I’m not pretending to the police that I’m an epileptic. Do you want me to fake a fit in front of them as proof?”

I start to walk away.

“Hey, where are you going? C‘mon we’ll get a few pints in and discuss this.”

“No, I’ve got to work later on today. “ I lie.

“Ah suit yourself mate, I’ll see you later. I’ll call you later once my head is a bit straighter, too much coke last night.”

He is blasting this out across the station as I walk away.

Scottish people in London, it’s always the same. For some reason they think the rules don't apply to them down here and they can get away with anything. Even if they’re working here it’s all treated as one extended holiday. It's not real life and I was no exception to this delusion, but as the frequency of these sorts of incidents began to escalate I was starting to realise that this wasn’t true. Sooner than you think the holiday is over, the tan fades and real life crashes in on you.

People are staring at me as I walk by and I suddenly catch sight of my reflection in a mirrored wall. I realise people are staring because it looks as if I have a severe case of third degree facial burns thanks to the cut throat shave. I put my head down and keep walking. No doubt it will fade fast, just like the holiday.