Occurring or done before the usual or proper time; too early.
Ejaculation
Noun
Something said quickly and suddenly.
I’ve had a habit of this my whole life (stop giggling and get your mind out of the gutter. We’re using the Queen’s English here). What I mean is, I regularly do or say something just that little bit too soon… whereas if I’d only wait for a bit it generally works itself out.
It usually isn’t anything major. Not like the end of The Mist (spoilers) where old mate kills everyone in the car a split second before the army arrives to rescue them (so grim. Definitely worth a watch though). It’s dumb shit like asking one waiter when my meal will arrive while another waiter is handing food to my wife. Or calling the godawful Telstra hotline if the internet has packed in only for it to start working just as Dave from Brisbane answers… that sort of dumb stuff. The small delay, I think, is worse than a long one. It just makes you look like an impatient bell-end.
Take, for instance, an excited author whose first book is due for release in two months. He hasn’t heard anything for a while (publishers are amazing, busy people, and editors, to paraphrase Stephen King, are doing the Lord’s work) so he makes a silly Facebook post about there being no news.
Then the next day he receives an email with really exciting news!
But he can’t share that with you… not yet. That would be premature.
As a teacher by day (and a barely functioning man-child by night) much of my life is controlled by bells, schedules and timetables. Even now, during the school holidays, I have a Pavlovian response to sniff out the nearest coffee at 8:15, 10:55 and 3:01, but it’s not just the daily routine that is ground in, it’s my entire life, the way I view the world. My year, for example, is organised by terms and breaks and it occured to me recently that THIS IS MY LAST SCHOOL BREAK BEFORE MY BOOK COMES OUT!
Next term I will be a published author…
I’m fine. I’m fine. No pressure!
… and the next school holiday I’ll probably be crying why isn’t anyone reading my book?!
… and the one after that I’ll be desperately shilling The Book and the Blade as a stocking filler!
… the one after that? Pulp?
But nihilistic self-deprecating bollocks aside, that’s really exciting isn’t it?! Yes, my life is split into carefully colour-coded and well organised little chunks, and yes I do associate big events automatically with where they fit in the school year… for example, in my first ever term as a teacher I married the love of my life… but that structured existence makes it really kind of exciting (and easy to keep track of). So while I’ll be preparing my students as they head towards their final exams (term 3 is notoriously where all the really hard work happens) I’ll also be coming home to a house that will look a little like Alan Partridge’s caravan (now that’s a niche little reference. I’m not sure how many will get that one!)
in fact, it’s the second Alan Partridge reference I’ve thrown in this post.
So, in terms of terms, this is it, my book is out… now*
*disclaimer… my book is not actually out now. Now will in fact be on September 6. But by then you’ll be able to look back at this which will be now.
I get asked this a lot. It’s nice. It’s also a wee bit depressing when the answer is, has been, and will probably continue to be… it isn’t. I have a “work in progress” but instead of my usual all-consuming attacking the keyboard like a starving dog going at a bag of hot chips I’m more tapping out a single word here and there like an old man one-finger tapping his phone while in line at the chemist.
We’re all absolutely cream-crackered. Between covid, the flu, moving house, work, exams, sick kids, midnight hospital visits, frequent runs to the doctor, and general… life… there’s been little in the way of time left for writing. But it’s the school holidays now so maybe I can eek out some time to peer over the top of the old spectacles and tap out a word here and there?
But I do like the latest book… it’s set in Brisbane and follows a young man who finds out he is the last witch in the city… and I have absolutely no idea what is going to happen! Right now, he’s at Bunnings have a sausage in bread while a 400 year old Irish witch buys a drill to hollow out the femur of a dead kangaroo so they can use it as wand/divining rod of some sort. Honestly, I have no clue!
As for the upcoming release of The Book and the Blade (my first novel in case I haven’t mentioned this before 🤣) I have absolutely no idea what is happening there either. Publishing is great fun. It’s long periods of seemingly neverending silence followed by short but massive flurries of activity before falling back into silence. Right now, you could hear a fart at a funeral. But time is ticking. We are just over 2 months away from release!
Squeaky bum time!
Right, I think I’ll go to Bunnings and see if I can drum up some inspiration (or get a sausage, either way, it’ll be fun).
This is a question that crops up a lot when people find out I write silly little books. And when they actually read those books and realise just how bloody silly they are the question takes on a whole new inflection. No longer simply curious, more… concerned.
“So, where do you get your ideas from?” (you complete nutter)
The answer is simple… theft and blind luck. I make shit up, I exaggerate, I see something I like or hear something that peaks my interest and I nick it, twist it and turn it into my own. Invariably, and to the ever loving frustration of my wife and friends, this means nothing is safe or sacred. Take the title of this blog post for instance… meet me at the horse’s arse. It’s a little weird, a bit out there, and absolutely not mine. My friend, Andy, once told a story about his parents arranging to meet in the city one rainy Saturday. This was back before we had mobile phones to stalk each other and carry on talking and getting directions while looking at one another. This was the good old 90s.
Fancy a trip into the city?
Sure. Where shall we meet?
ANZAC Square… at the statue.
Done.
Brisbane is a beautiful city. Lots of history, lots of open spaces, lots of handy places to meet. In fact, it’s kind of a right of passage to meet outside the Hungry Jacks in Queen Street but Andy’s parents weren’t teenagers when this story happened and neither were they carrying skateboards (kind of a prerequisite for the Hungry Jacks meet) so they arranged to meet in ANZAC Square next to the Boer War Memorial. It was the perfect spot. A giant bronze soldier astride a bloody great big horse on top of a huge stone plinth. Hard to miss.
Or so they thought.
As the story goes, Andy’s dad got there first and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Andy’s mam never showed. The worry set in. Had he been stood up? Was she okay? What was going on? The details from me are a little sketchy here because we were a bit drunk when Andy told me this story so I’m afraid I have no idea what the conclusion was and how these two lovely people finally met. Was it later the same day? Was it somewhere else? Was it at the horse? I don’t know. What I do know is the excellent resolution.
Andy’s mam had not stood her fella up at all.
And neither was she late.
In fact, Andy’s mam was getting just as frustrated as Andy’s dad… who, unbeknownst to her, was standing in the rain a little more than a few metres away! Because you see, the excellent end to this tale is that they both arrived at roughly the same time and yet waited at opposite ends of the horse!
Andy’s family now have this wonderful habit of arranging to meet at ‘the horse’s bum’, which is just so cool, and so lovely, and so easy to steal and throw into my story about the last witch in Brisbane, and of course, I changed ‘bum’ to ‘arse’ because I prefer a little swearyness in my tales.
So, when the question of inspiration comes up, the answer is simple. I steal things, I exaggerate, and I add little twists and turns until it becomes something else entirely. In my current WIP, it will not be a lovely couple missing their meeting at the statue in ANZAC Square. It will be a confused barman with some latent supernatural power waiting for a four-hundred year old Irish witch. Neither of them are going to be happy about it… and it will result in a demon being let loose on the city… and people will die… lots of people… in really weird ways… but it will be fun to read (I hope) and all because they failed to specify heads or tails!
I owe a big thank you to Andy’s mam and dad! We’ve only met once or twice and yet I’ve half-inched one of their family stories to scribble into one of my silly little books. Cheers!
And remember, folks. If you’re going to meet at a bloody great big horse statue… toss a coin, or better yet, just meet at the arse!
I’m broke, but I’m happy. I’m poor, but I’m kind. I’m not short, but I’m not particularly healthy either. For a few weeks now I’ve been living on a prayer and trying my hardest to keep the faith as I am not ready to go down in a blaze of glory just yet. I ain’t got a fever, or a permanent disease but it’s gonna take more than my doctor to prescribe a remedy… which is why I’ve been struggling to be a regular working class man. I had two weeks off work (though it was no summer holiday) while I got my head checked (and various other bits and bobs… remember kids, just because it feels good, doesn’t make it right) but so far, I have no answers. Hells bells, I even told the witch doctor, but I still haven’t found what I’m looking for. All my life I’ve been healthy but these days it feels a little like I’m on a long road to ruin, but you know what, I’m a paperback writer! As my wife says, I always make something from nothing and I’m happy to report that I’m already on the mend. For a while now, though, I haven’t been able to do anything. I can’t dance, I can’t talk. The only thing about me is the way that I walk. I think it’s been one week since you looked at me. Ain’t that a kick in the head! But I’m nothing if not Mr Brightside. I rested up, asked the doctor to give me the news, and got by with a little help from my friends.
I went back to the old 9 to 5… and I feel fine.
Then it all changed… again.
Imagine!
Somebody told me all these things that I’d done – specifically, the zombie book I wrote – was no good. Because, Mr Writer, you can’t legally reproduce song lyrics! Honestly, it was like a kiss with a fist! That book is FULL of lyrics. So much so, I might as well try to rewrite the stars. It’s not as though it’s a simple book about a girl or anything. It’s a full on zombie-ghost-hybrid novel and each chapter is the title of a song. Each one can stand on its own two feet and be so vain as to think that song is about it, because it is!
(that was a stretch wasn’t it)
I’m gutted.
Disturbed even.
A true heartbreaker. You were gonna go far, kid!
But the show must go on! Rock and roll dreams come through and I thrive under pressure. Now that I feel fine, it looks like I’ve got a lot of editing to do. Don’t stop me now!
There is the argument, of course, that instead of going through changes, what I got could be a real firestarter, but I don’t want to be caught by the fuzz. Because here’s the thing, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not after you.
So, how do you edit a full novel completely embedded with song lyrics in order to take all those song lyrics out and not fall foul of the copyright gods and yet still maintain the essence of the story while writing a sarcastic, song-lyric-laden blog post in the car in the pouring rain while waiting for your daughter to finish her drama class?
A kind of magic!
I just wish I had a Pina Colada.
Thanks for reading… how many references did you pick up?
I’ve always been fascinated by regression… going back to those things we find comfort in particularly when times are hard. There’s a psychological basis for it I’m sure but I won’t pretend to know what I’m talking about there. For me, it’s as simple as comfort food, comfort tv and comfort books. Last week I got ill and found myself watching Danger Mouse then marathoning the Star Wars movies… because apparently, despite being forty (and falling apart) I have never actually grown up. The difficult thing for me this week, though, has been the fact that I have found it almost impossible to read for any length of time. I just can’t concentrate, I feel nauseous and it brings on a migraine. That has been horrible. As my sister-in-law affectionately (I think) called me when we first met, I’m… afucking book reader. So being off work for a week (nightmare, I love my job) and not being able to read has been particularly shit.
DISCLAIMER: it is about a week since our little late night scramble to the hospital and I am feeling much better… but this post has taken the better part of an entire day to compose. Never mind the lack of focus, there are just too many awesome new episodes of Danger Mouse and Duck Tales to watch!
Despite being unable to read or concentrate for any great length of time, my brain hasn’t got the memo to switch off. I might be lethargic but – to abuse a quote from Messrs. Pratchett and Gaiman – my mind is…
… gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide
Good Omens
Being unable to “switch off” is both a blessing and a curse. When you’re in an Emergency Room at 330am and some fucker is watching cat videos on their phone without headphones and a televangelist is screaming at you from the tv while you’re trying to keep your brain from oozing out your ears and the rest of your insides on the inside, it is alarming how many variations of Middle-Aged Man Rampages in Waiting Room Because… headlines flit through your mind. This is why Stephen King writes horror, right? Because if he did any of the things in his head he’d be banged up quicker than Amber Heard trying to bring those dogs back to Australia. But the positive side is the ideas. A whole montage of what ifs flitting across the inside of my eyelids when I’m trying to rest. To a writer, they’re gold dust. But also… somewhat annoying. Kind of like Homer in The Simpsons episode where he communes with the animals and they just won’t leave him alone.
Scene from Homer the Heretic
So in this situation I retreat (regress… hide…) in the pages of my favourite book. Nation by Sir Terry Pratchett. It has to be the audiobook of course because the words make my eyes swim and my belly attempt a flop without a pool, but thankfully the narration by Stephen Briggs is superb. The strange thing about this book, however, is that it is not a childhood favourite. I had never even heard of it until I was in my 30s, but magic doesn’t give a shit about age and Nation is pure magic.
In fact, this post was supposed to be a book review.
(Note to self – having ideas is good. Writing them down is better.)
I had intended to write a series of reviews about my favourite books and what they mean to me – this was supposed to be the first – but as I’ve already waffled on for a small eternity and only just mentioned the damn thing I think I’ll end it here and try again when I feel better.
And anyway, that last season of Duck Tales isn’t going to watch itself.
So, erm, yeah… Nation by Terry Pratchett. It’s really good. 5 nitrous monkeys out of 5.
🐒🐒🐒🐒🐒
Nation by Sir Terry Pratchett. Read by Stephen Briggs.
There is no getting around it. Very soon I will have to get on my knees like everyone else in the world and beg for scraps at the feet of Emperor Bezos. As much as I would love The Book and the Blade to be 100% indie… only available in small shops with quirky cafes and book sellers who double as baristas, or perhaps even in unique little corners of the internet on websites run by enthusiastic book bloggers, I will still need to play The Amazon Game!
3(0) is the magic number! Yes it is, it’s the magic number!
– 30 reviews gets your book noticed by Amazon’s algorithms (Wizards. Wizards sounds cooler.)
– reviews get you onto lists
– lists get you exposure
Lists like these…
Having not released the book yet it is no surprise I’m floundering at the very bottom
But then there’s the strange caveat that reviews from people you know sometimes disappear. I’ve seen this with author friends and there are many indie authors on Twitter who testify to the same thing… any reviews they have which may be linked to, say, people on their Facebook friends list, can mysteriously vanish. Forget algorithms and wizards, that is the work of Amazon’s Dark Overlords!
(A smidge dramatic? Maybe.)
This doesn’t always happen but it has occurred enough times for it to be “a thing” for indie authors.
I don’t know how it will play out for The Book and the Blade but I do ask (and will repeatedly beg) that if you do read my little book, please leave a review. They might vanish into the ether, they might not. Either way, all interaction makes a huge difference. Perhaps together we can unite and overthrow the overlords? And they don’t have to be complex reviews or even analyse the story in any way. They just have to exist.
Every pimple, every character flaw.I was naked for a day; you will be naked for eternity.
Geoffrey Chaucer (sort of)
One of the fun things about writing a book you think pretty much no one will read is putting all your friends and family in there and ending their lives in new and imaginative ways. Not in a ‘secret serial killer’ kind of way you understand, more in a ‘hey lads, won’t this be a laugh?’ kind of way. But when said book bizarrely comes to the verge of publication all those funny little in-jokes and tragic ends suddenly seem a little… odd. What is perhaps even more strange is calling your friends and asking them for permission to end their lives.
So, chaps. I wrote a book. It’s getting published. You’re all kind of in it. Some of you for longer than others. Are you all cool with me using your names? And, well, killing you?
Thankfully, I am blessed with excellent friends. Perhaps my favourite reply was this one…
“Anyway man, can I please use your full name in a short scene where you get brutally torn apart by a…” “If you don’t use my full name, I’ll kill you”
What a legend! And they’re all the same. Everyone said yes. So friends and family are-quite literally in some places-littered throughout the books. What is interesting, however, is that I never once chose the name of a person I dislike (there aren’t that many people to be fair, but my Yorkshire-based stories leave little room for Donalds and Vladimirs. Perhaps I should have used Boris the bumbling oaf somewhere though?)
When Paul Bettany-in his excellent portrayal of Geoffrey Chaucer in A Knight’s Tale (loosely based on The Canterbury Tales)-hissed the wonderful insult,
I will eviscerate you in fiction!
he was going after the rogues and scoundrels. When I do it, I’m going after my friends.
Read into that what you will.
So when these books do eventually come out and you’re sitting there having a little read witnessing a particularly gruesome death (an evisceration perhaps?) Just think, that’s someone I love. And they don’t deserve it at all.
A short post here, ladies and gents… I wrote a daft zombie story set in the 90s. A kid dies and comes back as a ghost while his body reanimates as a zombie. He then spends the night trying to summon his inner Patrick Swayze in order to stop the damn thing eating all his loved ones and kickstarting the zombie apocalypse. Erm, in Redcar. My hometown. S
So, yeah. Really high-brow stuff.
But someone wants to publish it! 🤣
I got the official letter today. So watch this space for zombies, ghosts and erm… nunchucks.
Well, ladies and gents, I’ve managed to get this website up and running and I’ve made sure all the links work (and go precisely where they’re meant to). So far, it’s all tip-top and shiny. So, I wanted to draw your attention to a couple of new links I added just now. These two…
That’s Goodreads and Youtube and you can find them both in the header of this website. The reason I want to mention Goodreads, in particular, is because eventually, I will be begging people to leave reviews of The Book and the Blade there. And on Amazon.
As much as it pains me that old Bezoz rules the world and I will be hopefully focusing more on independent bookshops than the big brother dark overlord of book purveyors it is pretty much essential for a new book to get good traction on the conveyor belt of Amazon in order to have even a hope of success. And like everything else in this dear world, Amazon bought Goodreads.
So anyway, enough of the politics for a second. I set up a Goodreads account a while ago. I list all the books I’ve read there, post reviews, keep my reading life organised and, apparently, I also opened myself up to an ‘ask the author’ segment.
I don’t remember doing this, but I answered a couple of questions (generic ones, I believe. I still stand by the answers). So, I figured, what the heck? Ask me anything! Go for it, don’t be shy. Either do it on Goodreads itself (and please give a follow while you’re there) or ask in the comments here or on Facebook/Twitter.
And yes, Mam, you can just call on Whatsapp and ask me there x
A.B. Finlayson 