1000 Words a Week

As I said last post, for someone who claims to be a writer, I really didn’t do anything near enough writing last year. I plan to do something about that this year, but it’s already getting away from me and I’ve barely started.

I’ve set myself a goal of writing at least a thousand words a week of some form of prose. It won’t necessarily all appear here on my blog: much of it may well be in one of the novels I claim to be writing or articles for publication elsewhere. Nonetheless I’m aiming for at least fifty two thousand words by the end of the year.

I’m very aware that this year is already two weeks old, and I’m quite a ways behind the eight ball to start, so here’s the word “cabinet” eight hundred and thirty two times to make up for it:

cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet gladiola cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet  cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet cabinet

I really wouldn’t bother making anything of that, but you can if you will.




Garry with 2 Rs

The Big Smoke

And now for a little flagrant cross promotion: 

Australia has a new opinion website up and running. And as one of Australia’s most opinionated people, it comes as no surprise that I’ve got an article on it. 

Check it out, and check out the rest of the site while you’re there. It’s a pretty good effort.




Garry with 2 Rs

Daringly Bold and Cuttingly Insightful Political Commentary

So in other intermediate-sized news, I’ve applied for a position with a new online publication. And just on the off chance the editors of said publication should happen to click on the link to my blog, I’d really rather the first thing they read not be a blow by blow description of my birthday party. So what I really need now is a nice juicy political topic to write about.

Thank you Kevin Rudd.

That’s got to be the first time I’ve written that sentence since he sent me a thousand dollars while I was on holiday in Spain.

While Kevin Rudd’s re-ascendency to the  Prime Ministry has comprehensively answered some questions, it has also immediately posed a series of others: When will the election be? Can Kevin really turn things around for Labor before then? And, if the Prime Ministry is held by a man now, does that make everyone who disagrees with him a misandrist?

I’m really not sure what I personally make of the whole showdown. Part of me is happy to see Kevin restored, almost as if it’s bringing some cosmological natural justice back into balance. But part of me also remembers the night he was axed in the first place.

Even as a right leaning hyper-conservative nutcase, I hadn’t minded seeing Rudd defeat Howard too much in 2007. It was definitely the right time for a Labor government to bring the Australia political pendulum back into balance. He was all charisma and smiles, and brought promises of a fresh new energy in Australian Politics.

It didn’t take long for the shine to wear off. By the time 2010 rolled around, Rudd’s polling was sinking to levels that the Labor party could not possibly carry into a federal election, largely because there was a perception that the Prime Minister, for all his charm and stage presence, could not be trusted to deliver on the promises he had made to the country. So with a federal election defeat looming, the knives came out and the leadership was up for grabs.

Sound familiar?

I remember being very annoyed that the press conference cut right into the middle of Hey Hey It’s Saturday, and then later that evening suffering confusion on an almost existential level as I went to bed hoping for success on Julia Gillard’s part. When I woke the next day, I was happy to discover we had our first female Prime Minster, but disappointed that the Socceroos, despite beating Serbia, had been knocked out of the World Cup finals.

And then came “Moving Forward,” the Real Julia and the Carbon Tax. And before we knew it, we’d swapped one credibility challenged Prime Minister for another. And that's a real shame because Gillard - despite the precariousness of the government’s hold on the House of Representatives - has done some pretty cool things. NDIS, NBN (sort of) and uniform education standards have all been there, right alongside the budget deficits, petrol watch schemes and pink batt debacles.

And now we’ve come full circle. Kevin Rudd is back in power, and the Socceroos are off to Brazil. But given that Gillard’s ousting of Rudd was largely responsible for a hung parliament and a minority government, the question of whether ousting Julia Gillard as leader will undo the damage that has been done to the Labor brand, or damage it even further will be the defining factor of the election, whenever it is held.

Oh yeah, and Tony Abbott will be there too.

Make of that what you will.

Garry with 2 Rs

A Gigantic Whinge Fest

We have it pretty good in this country. I know I do. Most of us have a roof over our heads and access to reasonably useful food. And for those who don’t, there’s access to services, welfare and community aid programs. No-one in a privileged place like Australia really has much to complain about.

And yet…

I’m having a hard time finding a job. I mean… I have a job, but my contract expires in June and there’s no funding available to keep me on after that, so I’m looking for a new one. I’ve had a couple of close calls for jobs which would have been fantastic, but even after making it to the interview stages, I’ve been denied. So that’s disappointing.

Another thing that’s annoying me more than it should lately is the NT Literary Awards. More specifically, my failure to get shortlisted for them. I don’t want to seem like a bad sport or like I have a higher opinion of my own writing than I should, but I was quite disappointed not to make the last round with a play I submitted. That’s fine. I decided to submit a request for feedback to find out what went wrong. I got this reply from the organisers:

Unfortunately, of your four pieces, only one has received written comments. It’s one of the hardships of dealing with a panel of volunteer judges, that you can’t tick them off for failing to follow orders! Please find one piece of feedback attached for Traditional English Hospitality.

I don’t want to bag the Lit. Awards too hard, because they do a great job promoting NT writing, but I do wonder how they made the decision not to shortlist me when there was no feedback on anything I’d written. Well… whatever. I’m not bitter. I’m never at home to Mr Bitterbottom.

And it doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve always been of the opinion that as long as I’ve got my keyboard and my car, there’s nothing I can’t do. It seems a strange thing to base my independence and self-confidence on, but there you have it. If I can go anywhere and I’ve got Samantha with me, we’re all good.

On Saturday night my car broke down. This is a calamity in anyone’s life, but in Darwin it’s particularly disastrous, as buses tend to come about once every fifteen years. And for me it was a double blow as I watched the otherwise faithful GSS Unity being hoisted onto the tow truck: Genius that I am I left my keyboard sitting on the back seat.

Fortunately I’m in a position where I can walk to both work and church from my house, so the loss of my car doesn’t cripple me completely like it did when I was without a car in Palmerston. But here I am in the middle of the year when everything was supposed to be falling into place for me and I can’t get a job, apparently I can’t write, and now I have no car and no keyboard. At times like this a man falls back on the only recourse left to him: Whinging about it on his blog. I mean… praying.

Fresh from last week's spectacular demonstration of things going right for me, I'm just a little frustrated at my seeming inability to catch a single break. Ah well. One Body and Happy Yess comedy are both coming up. Hopefully that will turn things around.

Make of that what you will.




Garry with 2 Rs

Rethinking My Whole Life

When I was a kid I watched way too much Lois and Clarke. I don’t know what it was about the show that appealed to me at the time, but it really sucked me in. I used to make sure I could be at home to watch it on TV, and if I couldn’t be there I would make sure Mum taped it for me. On VHS. Yes, I’m that old. Shut up.

It was at about that time in my life that the idea of becoming a journalist started to appeal to me. It would be easy to assume that it was all about wanting to be Superman, but my passion for writing and for public information has only strengthened over the years, while my obsession with the Man of Steel has thankfully declined. A bit.

By the time I left Darwin to travel to university, I knew there was only one field of study for me. I had good enough marks from high school to study just about anything that wasn’t medical, but to my extended family’s despair I enrolled in a bachelor of arts program and signed up for a journalism major. As an extra side project for interest’s sake, I also enrolled in introductory linguistics. Nothing was ever going to come of that, it was just for fun really.

Five years later I held a Bachelor of Journalism and an Honours Degree in linguistics. Many of my colleagues from the school of journalism went on to cadetships and positions in regional dailies. Some have gone on to do some great things. One of my colleagues is now a political reporter for ABC TV in Canberra, and another has just become an editor at ABC radio in Queensland.

Me? I decided to put my job offer from the Border Watch (the local daily paper in Mt. Gambier) aside and entertain the strange idea of working as a professional linguist for a speech technology company in Sydney. I figured I could always become a journalist later, but the opportunity to work as a linguist was only going to come up once in a blue moon.

With the benefit of hindsight, moving to Sydney was an excellent decision, as it was in Sydney that I first met Kim. But that’s another story that everyone’s sick of by now.

When I returned to Darwin a few years later, the plan was that I’d be able to walk straight in the front door of the NT News and say “job please”. The weeks I had spent as an intern during my studies coupled with being a local boy were supposed to be a watertight guarantee. Unfortunately in the intervening years the entire management and editorial staff of the paper had changed (it does that about every six months) and no-one knew who I was anymore. My applications landed in the pile of applications from every journalism graduate in the country, and I slunk off to become a trainer at a locally run credit union.

Two and a half years, one promotion, and five applications later, I managed to wrangle myself another two week voluntary stint with my local newspaper. Perhaps this was finally my chance to put aside this project management nonsense and fulfil my destiny as a newsroom cadet.

Well, I was offered a “research position” with the Northern Territory Government instead, and for the last twelve months I've been once more managing recording projects in other languages, despite no such activity being found anywhere in my current job description, which is admittedly fairly vague. It seems my true destiny is to sit in front of computers in quiet rooms, listening to other people record languages I don’t understand. This realisation would be extremely depressing, if I hadn’t had an equally powerful revelation this week about journalism.

I don’t want to do it.

It came this week as our televisions, newspapers and computer screens were flooded with images of the Boston Marathon bombings. Twitter exploded with expressions of support, the news had images of the aftermath on repeat for at least a whole day and online news was full of opinion pieces about how this was further demonstration that no-one should ever feel safe and terrorists are lurking behind every corner. Let’s bomb them. Three people were killed, which is a tragedy. One of the victims was a child. Look at this nice picture of him.

Meanwhile in the same week, 39 Afghan civilians were killed by US armed forces, who blew up a wedding celebration for some classified reason. And as we prepare to pull forces out of Iraq, a series of up to fifty explosions killed 46 people in Baghdad and injured over three hundred. That one happened at almost exactly the same time as the Boston attacks.

But look at this picture of a dead American boy. It’s a tragedy.

Well, okay, yes it is a tragedy and my prayers are with his family. My prayers are also with the families of the Iraqis and Afghans hurt and killed at the same time, even if the media don’t give flying fig about them.

And it’s not just a symptom of our society’s general ignorance. As soon as people become aware of these facts, they are as shocked and disgusted as I am that we could spend so much air time lamenting the loss of three people, when almost thirty times that are being blown to bits overseas, some of them at our hands. It’s not that people don’t care about it; it’s that the mainstream media are telling us not to care about it. The commercial news values of every major media outlet have dictated that the loss of three white people in America is worth a full day’s uninterrupted coverage, but the death of close to a hundred people in the Middle East isn’t worth reporting.

That’s inhuman, inconceivable and repugnant. I want no part of it. I’d rather record notices in Kriol telling people to take their kids to school than walk within twenty metres of a newsroom this week. And so would Superman. So bollocks to my journalism degree. I’m going to go and do something worthwhile with my life.

Make of that what you will.




Garry with 2 Rs

Press Release

(Written for Happy Yess Comedy 4 April 2013, and posted here in lieu of anything else to write about)

Good evening ladies and gentleman and thank you very much for your attendance this evening. As you would no doubt be aware from the press briefing notes we spoon fed you this morning, our party is taking this opportunity to announce some bold, audacious and courageous new policy directions. These new policies are designed to give more Australians a fair go, and to more responsibly, sensibly, reasonably and responsibly spend the budget allocations for this sector.

Just like many Australians, our party has been disturbed, concerned, troubled and indeed disturbed by recent revelations regarding the transport of live creatures around Australian and to destinations in South East Asia among others.

It is the firm belief of this party that such wanton disregard for the value and dignity of life is unacceptable. To cram so many in to such a confined space, for interminable amounts of time on route to Asia is beyond reprehensible and cannot be allowed to continue.

Therefore under a brand new initiative, our party will be forcibly disbanding Jetstar, replacing it with a transit system that doesn’t leave at one o’clock in the freaking morning and placing a blanket ban on those stupid orange uniforms to go with it.

Our party is very cognizant that Australians are concerned about the state of our environment, about climate change and about Anthropogenic Global Warming. As a political movement, we want to reassure all voters that not only do we have a firm grasp on what these words mean, we take very seriously the science behind the debates and the entirely rational discussions that go with it.

As an extension of this, our party will be revamping the Carbon Tax. It will no longer be a flat rate tax on polluting industries, which damages our economy, but a more fairly, evenly, equitably and fairly distributed tax on all carbon-based life forms and their footprints. This is to ensure a strong and sustainable future for our country, free from carbon and the manifold problems associated with it. The science is clear on this issue; remove all the carbon-based life forms from our economy and we’ll remove the human causes of global warming altogether, for a cleaner future for all Australians.

Turning to the very complex challenges facing us in the area of immigration, asylum seekers, people smuggling and political refugees; It’s important to understand that issues such as these can only be addressed with very simple, straightforward, sloganistic campaign messages, and in accordance with this principle, Australia has a very clear approach to the development of appropriately populist immigration policies. As far as this party is concerned, if the immigration policy of this country can’t be summarised, satirised or debunked in a three line internet meme, then it needs to go back where it came from.

With this in mind, our party is committed to eradicating people smuggling by the year 2175. In order to take the first steps towards this realistic, measurable and accountable goal, we will not only abolish the Pacific Solution, but we are in active negotiations to abolish the Pacific Ocean altogether. We have put out a number tenders for sub contracts, and the consensus from the private sector is that complete elimination of the Pacific’s 622 million cubic kilometres of water could be achieved over a period of three years at a cost of three hundred kajillion dollars. We have therefore set aside the necessary 1.7 billion dollars and we are confident that the project will be delivered by Christmas.

Naturally some budget cutbacks will be necessary to fund this venture. It would irresponsible, reckless, careless and, frankly, irresponsible to make a huge sweeping promise like this without having any idea how to fund it, and Australians expect more. That is why we have elected to generate funds for the Pacific Dissolution by closing twenty seven hospitals across the country and completely disbanding the Department of Education. This is an important sacrifice that we are prepared to undergo on behalf of the Australian people, as we are firm in our belief that draining the entire ocean will stop the boats. Probably.

Our party is firmly committed to these policies, as a central part of our nation building platform; a platform which is engaging, sustainable, equitable, and – above all – engaging for all Australians. Full details will be available on our party website, just as soon as we get the NBN working.

Ladies and gentleman, I’m Garry Condoseres. I thank you for your time.

Make of that what you will

Garry with 2 Rs

Mission Accomplished

So my Nanowrimo campaign has ended successfully. I made it to 50178 words, with just over four hours to spare, in further demonstration that not only can I produce copious amounts of nonsense in a relatively short time span, I can also do it according to a carefully managed schedule. A big thanks to everyone who got behind me to get it done. And a raspberry to those who thought they could stop me.

It still needs some fairly heavy duty proof reading, but if you want a copy of the manuscript let me know. And if you pledged to sponsor me, I’ll be ‘round to collect sometime before Christmas.

Make of that what you will.



Garry with 2 Rs

Extreme Slacktivism

Next month I’m going to attempt National Novel Writer’s Month (NaNoWriMo) again. It's an entirely silly endeavour that challenges writers to compose a 50,000 word novel during November. I gave it a go a couple of years ago, and was successful, both in the task of writing 50,000 words in a month and in the far more important task of beating Kiriibilli Kim.

Despite having a whole lot of other stuff going on, I’m going for it again this year. And this time I’m hoping to achieve the goal I failed at last time, which was to raise money for charity through sponsorship, rather than just writing a whole lot of rubbish for no apparent reason.

Up on the top bar I’ve set up a new tab called NaNoWriMo 2012. If you’d like to get behind me on this, drop a comment here or on that page. Make sure you leave your name or some way for me to contact you. You can make a one off pledge conditional on me getting to 50,000 words, or you can choose to sponsor X dollars/cents per Y words (bear in mind that even 1c per word will come in at $500 if I make it to 50,000, so be careful how you calculate that one).

Any money I raise this way will be donated to the Australian Red Cross in support of their "Save a Mate Our Way" program, which works with community members in remote communities across Northern Australia to reduce alcohol and other drug abuse and to foster initiatives for healthier lifestyle choices.

Please get behind me on this and help me make a difference for disadvantaged and at risk kids in the Top End. By sitting at my computer for hours on end writing stuff. It's like posting memes on Facebook, except it actually achieves something.

Cheers




Garry with 2 Rs

Super Supreme

My new(ish) job as a researcher with the Aboriginal Interpreter Service does on occasion require me to do research. Most of the time I can do this just fine with a combination of Google, Wikipedia and … making it up and finding a source somewhere who agrees with me. But every now and again I actually have to go and look something up properly like a big boy. This week was one of those weeks.

In my capacity as legal interpreting team researcher, I’ve been granted access to the NT Supreme Court Library. That doesn’t sound very impressive, mainly because it isn’t, but the weird part is that you can’t just wander in there and use it any old time. Your name has to be on a list of approved library users. My name is now on that list. How exciting.

I presented myself at the Supreme Court lobby for an introduction to the library systems. My first challenge was getting past security; Supreme Court lawyers can smell an arts graduate a block and a half away, and won’t hesitate to press the button that releases the hounds. I showed my ID to the security guard, passed my bag through the X-ray scanner and sprayed myself with the specially made salve that would help to prevent me from catching fire once I was inside the library itself.

The security guard waved his swipe card over the lift controls and I was transported into a magical world of academic nirvana, where the walls were made of wood panels and the floor was made of gold. It was hard to believe it was the same building, just three floors up. But here, suspended high above the rabble of the public gallery, even the quiet hum of the air conditioner seemed to whisper “You don’t belong here.”

I prised open the enormous wooden doors and approached the front desk. The record keeper from the Jedi archive, or possibly her sister, greeted me with a stare that could have frozen a bottle of vodka. I introduced myself and apologised for existing, but explained that I needed a tour of the research facilities.

She was kind enough to point out which shelves held dusty old books that hadn’t been touched for centuries, and which shelves held different dusty old books that hadn’t been touched for centuries (Yes, I know the Supreme Court building is only twenty years old. These books were here before we were, I’m sure of it.) Then she introduced me to the SC online catalogue.

SC computers do not have direct access to the internet at large for whatever reason, but have access to what would probably be a very impressive list of research databases if I had any idea what they did. The librarian was very excited to show me the Lexis Nexis database, but unfortunately it wasn’t working that day due to a problem with a login script, so she decided to show me AGIS instead. That wasn’t working either. Instead she showed me how to use the simple SC internal catalogue, which was much more interesting until she pointed out that you can access that externally via the commoners’ intertron. Eventually even that logged me off and asked for more passwords, which I wasn’t going to give anyone the satisfaction of being asked for. Even the computer system seemed convinced that I really wasn’t supposed to be there. Fortunately I had written the details of my article down, so I just went and found the book on the shelves myself. Sometimes (actually, most of the time) that’s easier.

I thanked the lady for her time and got myself the hell out of there. I had passed my initiation, and strode from the lobby with my head held a little higher with the knowledge that I was one of the elite now. I was a library user. Fear me. And while it may not have been particularly useful, my visit to the elite world of exclusive libraries has at least given me something to write about, which is, I suppose, what libraries are for after all.

Make of that what you will.

Garry with 2 Rs

When Bad Things Don't Happen To Good Characters

I’ve reached an emotional impasse in the novel I claim to be writing.

I say “claim,” because although I’ve claimed to be writing it for more than decade now, I haven’t actually added anything to what’s already there (I’m about three quarters through on the first draft) for several months now. The problem is that I know exactly what has to happen next, but I really don’t want it to.

Basically, I have to take one of my main characters and break her. I’ve spent the last eight chapters or so bringing all the players in to place, and now comes the part where I deliberately and methodically smash her heart to pieces.

And I can’t do it.

They say everyone’s first novel is autobiographical to a certain extent. This character is a tightly wound, socially appropriate female orphan, so you can make of that what you will. But while she isn’t based on me in any literal sense, in another sense she has been written to personify all the things I hate about Church culture. And since these days I’m so enveloped in Church culture that it’s hard to tell where I finish and the worship band starts sometimes, in a sense I’m taking a very large knife and pointing it at myself.

But when I first started writing, way back when I was fresh out of school, full of bravado and ready to take down any institution that thought it could tell me what to do, I wrote this character and put a skeleton plot together that would give me a way to show the Church exactly what I thought of it. As far back as 2001, this character has always been heading for this. I have purposefully crafted the plot in order to bring her to it, and at last the moment has come.

And I can’t do it.

It’s a very strange sensation to discover that you have grown emotionally attached to a character who is not only fictional, but is quite literally a figment of your imagination. Especially when I don’t particularly like her. But, perverse as it sounds, I think that’s some of the problem. Not only is this character not real, but the only reason she has even been conceived of and written down is because I invented her. She is entirely dependent on me for her unreality, and I’m about to drop a piano on it.

Not an actual piano, you understand, nor even an unreal piano. I mean in the story, it’s not an actual…she not going to... She’s just…

Oh shut up! It doesn’t matter whether it’s a slightly unreal piano or an entirely metaphorical one. The point is I can’t do it.

And it’s not as if I’m only in this for all out destruction either. Without giving too much away, this isn’t the end for my unfortunate fictional acquaintance. I’m a loving, merciful and gracious author, and the story’s really only three quarters written. I have every intention of picking up the pieces I smash her into and making something new and more interesting out of them. From my omniscient perspective (ie. perched in front of my laptop, surrounded by empty coke bottles and an assortment of clothes in various stages of the laundry cycle) I can see where all this is leading. I can see the resolution I’m trying to get her to, and I can see why there’s no way to get her to it without seriously hurting her. I know that if I want to this plot to advance to the next stage and get past this difficult moment, then there’s nothing for it. I have to break her.

And I can’t do it.

Garry with 2 Rs

Unlicensed

What the hell has happened to my blog?

I remember back in the day I used to write about important political issues, significant events of the day and cutting edge social commentary. At the very least, they were tales with a strong moral message for the family. These days it seems my blog is more self-obsessed than ever, which probably goes a fair way to explaining why I find myself with nothing to write about so often.

Well forgive my sudden change of tack, but I feel compelled this week to jump back on the “look how important I am” bandwagon for just a moment, because while the degree to which I take anything seriously is debatable, this stuff matters.

Last week a government report named the Finkelstein Review was released, providing recommendations for reforms to the Australian media system. In broad terms, it didn’t really say anything revolutionary: media standards are something we should be concerned about, but really it's not that bad. It turns out the idiocy at News of the World was specifically an English problem. Better luck next witch hunt.

But one sneaky recommendation the review makes is the overhauling of the decentralised self-regulatory bodies used by existing media companies, and the establishment of a government controlled licensing and regulatory board.

No two ways about it; this is flat out wrong.

The idea behind the proposal is that in the digital age it is far too easy for any hack with a smart phone to call himself a journalist and upload whatever content he likes to the internet, regardless of accuracy, propriety or ethics. The council would require all reporters with the Australian media industry and, interestingly, all producers of blogs with more than 41 hits per average day, to be registered as licensed journalists.

This isn’t a new idea; the idea of a journalism license to prove intellectual capacity and responsibility in the press has been around for decades. And as attractive as it sounds (I'll be the first to publicly lambaste the Australian media for shoddy quality. I'm also fairly quick to use the word 'lambaste' in general. I really like it), the reason we don’t do it has been around for just as long: You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t write in a liberal democracy.

Yes, we need standards and ethics in the media, that’s why the Australian Press Council and The Australian Communications and Media Authority already exist. The problem with these organisations is that they are part of the media system itself, a fact which always lends itself to criticism about accountability. But that’s the whole point of a free press. No-one gets to tell the press what it can and can’t write, least of all the government. And you can't silence someone because she doesn't meet your criteria for qualification. Ever. You can criticise her, ignore her, counter her or lambaste her. But you can't silence her.

Sure, we want media content to be appropriate. But do we want the government telling us what that means? Sure, we demand that the news always be true. But do we want the government telling us what is and isn’t true? Now imagine that the party you don’t support is in power and ask yourself the same questions. This stuff really does matter.

Fortunately (well…) for the free world, Cum Tacent Clament doesn’t rate anything near 41 hits a day, so you can rest assured that the steady flow of biased, inappropriate nonsense will continue long after the dark shroud of government censorship has descended on the cyberverse. When that day comes, I and my eight followers shall lead the glorious revolution, overthrow the establishment and usher in a new era of freedom, irresponsibility and ice cream for all.

Make of that what you will.



Garry with 2 Rs

The Show Must Go On

Last weekend was all about the show.

For one thing, it was the Show Day long weekend. Every year the Royal Darwin Show unfolds itself on to the showgrounds. For three glorious days people stream through the gates, and then walk around in circles trying to figure out what they’re doing there. It seems to me that if you’re not a small child, a carnie or a farmer there isn’t really much to get excited about apart from eating things outside in glorious dry season weather, which we could do anyway. And then three days later the livestock, balloons and rides fold themselves up into temporal stasis for another year, ready to emerge again, unscathed and unchanged, in twelve months time.

I swear: it’s even the same cows.

Meanwhile, there was another show on in town. For reasons I still don’t fully understand, Corrugated Iron decided that show weekend was a good time to put Tease on. Having long since backed away from an acting role, I was quite keen to put on my writer’s hat (I don’t really have a literal writer’s hat, although I do have a black fedora, which is just about the same thing) and sit and watch the words I’d written come to life on stage. I’d never had that experience before and it was kind of awesome.

I really need to give credit here to the cast; Kadek Hobman, Danielle Andrews and Dylan Bennett, and also to the director Alex Galeazzi. Those guys were awesome, and put in performances that made the play seem a lot better than it was.

All in all it was a great success. I got a lot of really positive feedback from people whose opinions I respect and I’ve had more than a few people ask me what my next project is. It’s a bit embarrassing to have to say I don’t have one. Still, I’m feeling more than a little inspired to find one; after all, you know what they say:

A splash of apple cider never hurt anyone.

Garry with 2 Rs

A Bit of a Tease

I’m edging closer to crossing another goal off my 2011 checklist. So far this year I’ve already appeared in two improvised comedy performances with some local comics. They don’t really take a lot of preparation, and by definition require no rehearsal, so I’m lumping them and the two or three more we plan to run later this year together and calling them one theatrical performance.

Next weekend I have my audition for this year’s Operatunity production. Last year’s audition and eventual production was such a crazy experience I decided to try it all again this year. I’m still working on something suitably classy, impressive and appropriate for the try-outs. I’ll keep you posted.

More interestingly, I’m getting involved with a local performing arts group called Corrugated Iron, who put on a show-case review of local talent every year called Tease. Phil suggested I submit a short one-act play I’ve been writing for a while. I went along with it to humour him, and surprisingly enough they’ve decided to go with it. All of a sudden I’m a playwright. Craziness.

Initially the idea was to just submit the play and possibly assist with the direction. But after agreeing to present the play, Corrugated Iron went and cast two of my good friends Phil and Danielle in the two main roles. That just left them with the problem of who to cast in the third role. I couldn’t help but my hand up for it, so now I’m finding out what it’s like to be writer, director and actor all in the same show. Traditionally, writers are supposed to get affronted by directors’ arrogance, directors are supposed to be disappointed with actors’ ineptitude and actors are supposed to lament the writer’s lack of vision. I don’t know if I can manage all that, but I’ll try not to beat myself up about it.

Once more, with feeling!

Garry with 2 Rs

The War of the Words

No one would have believed, in the early years of the 21st century, that fictional affairs were being concocted in the timeless worlds of cyberspace. No-one could have dreamed that pages were being scrutinised, as someone with a typewriter studies characters that swarm and multiply in a drop of ink. Few men even considered the possibility of writing a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. And yet: across the gulf of cyberspace, minds immeasurably superior to yours regarded this task with manic enthusiasm. And quickly, and wantonly, they drew their plans and got down to it.

Oh damn. What I would give right now to be able to make my blog articles play music.

Yes yes, at some point, probably next month, I’ll get around to writing about what it was like being in an opera. But for now my literary attention is focussed squarely on Nanowrimo (which is obviously why I’m spending time writing blog posts…).

I probably wouldn’t have bothered, but a certain CTC commenter whose name may or may not start with K and rhyme with “Bali Belly Tim” has been sending me rude emails regarding her cumulative word count. Being American, Tim is obviously approaching the task in the manner of a 200 metre sprint, and as such is under the simplistic illusion that she’s winning, based solely on the fact that she’s written more words than I have.

I, being smarter, faster, more operatic, less red headed and more Australian than Tim, am approaching the task from the vastly more sophisticated point of view of the second innings of a one day international cricket match (Michael Clarke, if you’re reading, you could probably learn a bit from this too). While it’s true I’m about three thousand words behind on the required run rate, I also have weekends in hand and a powerful lower order pinch hitter known as “Rostered Day Off”. I’m also planning on setting a record for ninth wicket stands and ruining your summer, but I digress.

The point is …

Um…

Look how clever I am! I managed to code a graphic display into the side bar! Now those of you reading from America can kid yourselves into believing Tim is winning, while fellow members of the Commonwealth of cricket appreciating nations can calculate the required word rate and try to guess when I’m going to take the batting power play, whilst whinging about the fact that it really doesn’t belong in the game in the first place and keeping an eye on the incoming clouds in case Duckworth Lewis comes into play. But hello, it looks like 2 Rs is about to take the new ball.

See how much cooler cricket is than running?



Garry with 2 Rs

P.S. Don’t even get me started on how many words my roller skating freak of a sister has written. She’s in Canada in winter and has a broken arm, so obviously there’s nothing for her to do except be cold, write and drink hot beverages. Obviously this counts as pitch doctoring and is clearly not within the spirit of the game.

P.P.S. Ashes are just around the corner. Yeah yeah!

Poets, Librarians and Me

Last week I was invited to an awards ceremony at my local library. I was a little bit surprised to receive the invitation, but I figured that my tireless work in support of… libraries was finally being recognised at an official level. They would probably unveil a plaque that said

“In grateful acknowledgement of occasional visits, this plaque was unveiled by his honour the Lord Mayor of Darwin, Graeme Sawyer on the 19th day of March 2010, and dedicated to the memory of Garry with 2 Rs, in whose name his beloved Andrea hath erected this monument.

“Sometimes he came here to borrow books.”

It seemed like a huge honour. I’ve always wanted my own plaque. Never mind the fact that I’m not dead yet. And who the hell is Andrea?

Okay, so the presentation was actually for a poetry competition. I was surprised to get invited because I didn’t really think my entry, which I only put in on a spur of the moment decision, would be in the running for anything. And with good reason.

It wasn’t.

I got invited because anyone who had bothered to enter got invited. It turns out Shakespearean sonnet writing contests don’t actually attract that many competitors, so they just invited the whole lot of us so that the winner would actually have someone there to cheer for him.

Actually, it was interesting to see the sort of crowd that would rock up for a sonnet competition presentation ceremony. Mostly older folk, but with a smattering of slightly younger English teachers and one extremely out-of-place twenty-something year old training officer/stunt linguist. In the end I was grateful not to have won. If I had walked out the front and read my entry aloud, I don’t think I could have absorbed the combined hatred of a dozen or so retirees all at once (I could totally have taken the English teachers though).

I’m pretty sure my poem came dead last. It was a Valentine’s Day competition, and my views on romance aren’t what you’d call universally well received. Nonetheless, I still got a free drink and meal out of it, which is more than can be said for most amateur poets.

Today’s episode was bought to you by the letter C and the number 17. Cum Tacent Clament is a production of the Children’s Television Network.*




Garry with 2 Rs

*Not really. They should probably keep children as far away from CTC as possible.

The awful consequence of writer's block

My recent drive to blog more frequently
has come somewhat unstuck by circumstance
in that, to write, one first should come by some
or other happenstance of some remark.
As chance, or rather lack of chance, plays out
I find myself devoid of all such points
as would provide a suitable platform
from whence to launch another mad tirade.
So now I write purely for writing's sake
which is, whichever way one looks at it
somewhat perverse. But meh. Get over it.

And if you've read thus far it seems to stand
to reason you are perfectly content
to read a brazen contentless blog post
which, posted merely for it's own crude sake
contributes further to general haze
of meaningless cyber-gratuity
which swurvles in an ever-growing storm
of ones and zeros carefully arranged
in such orientations as to bring
the message to a screen at once removed
from my bland desk from which I click 'upload'
and yet connected in some mystic sense
(or even in a physical context
by wires or cables) by the property
of both we having had this set of lines
which, (though I say it of myself (again))
is up there with the weirdest posts I've blogged.

And tending, as I almost always do,
to write with such a style as could well be
described as “needlessly verbose” and “dumb,”
I've noticed, as no doubt have you by now,
despite it's length of full seventeen lines
the second paragraph displayed above
consists of just one sentence. That's cool (well...)!
I also can't be sure it doesn't lack
cohesion, sense or continuity.

So now that it's complete, both I and you
should go and find something useful to do.

Far from home



Garry with 2 Rs