Tag: essays

Day 57

For a blog that is supposedly about writing I’ve noticed that I don’t spend a great deal of time actually producing articles specifically for writers or even aimed at the craft itself. While many writers and authors have created wondrous platforms where they write about self-publishing, grammatical structure, or establishing an audience, I have taken a different approach to this site. It’s an approach that I believe is more important to my own creative journey than producing pieces on growing an audience or the likes. Here at Renegade Press through postings of wolves, broken windows, floods and catastrophes I have created a space that is uniquely my own. In this space I can be vulnerable, arrogant, aggressive, creative, and above all else it’s a space where I can be free to express myself creatively.

I’m not knocking those who choose to write posts that are logical, well thought out, and coherent; I actually admire many of those writers and follow their sites. I’m merely suggesting that the idea of producing such posts doesn’t really feel right for me. I’m too erratic in my thought processes and not yet accomplished enough in my craft to be handing out writing/publishing advice to anyone.

I’m a dog chasing cars. Or more accurately a literary wolf chasing fragments of ideas through the shadowy contours of my mind.

One such idea was to change the way I see the world. I’ve forever been known as narcissist and a bit of a prick so on January 1st 2015 I decided to focus on sowing seeds of positivity into my mind rather than allowing the oppressive weight of hate to rest upon my heart as it had done for years. The experiment came around after I read an article detailing a study released by the European Journal of Social Psychology on creating habits in which the researchers suggested that the average time it took for someone to adopt a new habit was sixty six days. It sounds easy enough doesn’t it? Practise optimism for sixty six days until it becomes so ingrained in your mind that you’re constantly searching for the positive in life rather than brooding over shit that’s outside of your capacity to control.

So how have I found the experience?

Well, at times I’ve struggled with remaining positive. There have been a few moments where I’ve gnashed teeth and threatened to break someone’s nose or flown into a verbal tirade of expletives. At one point over the past two months I even found myself hell bent on returning to my former state of perpetual hate as a means of rousing myself from a momentary creative slump. But for the most part I’ve remained upbeat and embraced life and my fellow man with a vigour that surpasses any I have ever had before.

I’m now at day fifty seven of my experiment and I’m actually stunned by what I have managed to achieve during this timeframe. My altered mindset has seen me embrace new concepts and ideas and abandon much of the narcissist bullshit that was hindering my progression as a writer and a man. I’ve started reading a more varied series of blogs and texts, re-enrolled in university after a hiatus, and have even started developing a social media presence through Instagram. In addition to this I’m continuing to grow more tolerant of people and have stopped being an arsehole just for the sake of it. This openness of heart and mind has paid huge dividends as my debut novel Midas is now available on Amazon, my followers here at Renegade Press is now five times what it was on January 1st, and people are starting to see me as something other than a insensitive dickhead with an axe to grind.

All of which is overwhelmingly positive. The experiment has been an overwhelming success, but as I draw ever closer to the climax of my sixty six days I’ve began asking myself where do I go from here?

Publishing my novel actually left me a little dazed and confused after the goal I’d toiled away at for close to a decade suddenly came to fruition and I’ve kind of struggled to reignite my motivation to create and understand where my career as a writer is headed next. But now I’m starting to put together another series of goals that will consume my existence and with my new mindset I believe that I can achieve them. I’ve got the world in front of me and even though I have quelled my arrogance somewhat, I’m still egotistical enough to believe I can achieve anything.

On day fifty seven I have set my sights on grandeur and excellence in my field. As I begin penning my way through a follow up to Midas as well as continue to work on a myriad of alternate scripts I’ve also set my sight on becoming a name synonymous with modern day literature. It’s not an easy feat to accomplish; nor should it be. I aim to inspire but I also aim to challenge myself at every opportunity. So while I have a incredible amount of work to do just to begin to become well-known in this industry, I feel that just by knowing that someone is reading this post I can say that I am already on my way to achieving my goal.

Here I stand at day fifty seven with the world in front of me.

Free your mind

With forgiveness as our torch, and imagination our sword
We’ll untie the ropes of hate and slash open the minds of the bored
And we’ll start a world so equal and free
Every inch of this Earth is yours, all the land and all the sea
Imagine no restrictions, but the climate and the weather
Then we can explore space together forever
– Rou Reynolds

It’s pretty rare for the content of this blog to stray from my own self-indulgent musings or highly erratic commentary on the literary industry. In fact, I can only recall one post ever doing so. It was written some time ago and labelled Mona Lisa’s and Centrefolds; a piece that was essentially a middle finger to someone I knew and their derogatory view of women. I’m an arrogant piece of work and this page is testament to that. It has given me a soapbox to stand atop of and preach my stubbornness to anyone who will listen. But today I want to set aside my own ego and talk about something a little more serious. I want to talk about race…

…Believe me; I can hear the collective gasp of my readership at the mere mention of a controversial topic. I’m overtly opinionated at the best of time, so I understand and support any apprehension that you may feel. Regardless, I’m going to press ahead and make my argument. Because I have witnessed far too many racial incidents lately that I feel compelled to weigh in on the topic. Someone has too.

Any man or women who judges a person based on the colour of their skin, their heritage or their religious creed is a piece of shit. Plain and simple. If you are someone that feels comfortable to judge somebody based on their faith or their ethnicity then you are a sad, sorry individual that deserves no place on this earth. We live in a supposedly democratic society in which we demand free speech and the right to express ourselves as individuals, yet so many of us are perfectly fine to condemn or ridicule others for wanting the same basic human rights. It seems that we are a world of ignorant arseholes and bigots who care only about our own interests and have no real regard for the culture or beliefs of our peers.

We see racism occur every single day in our society, and oftentimes we do very little to stop and actually take note of its existence. From the bigot on a train cussing out a black security guard just trying to do his job, to the keyboard warrior who slanders the construction of a mosque on Australian soil, through to leaders of organisations such as ISIS, and even the fear-mongering media and politicians who want as to be afraid of anyone different to ourselves. It really has to stop. Something has got to give. It is 2014 for God’s sake, and although I’ve previously stated that I can’t see a future in which I have a family, if I did, I’d be so ashamed to bring them up in a world so ready to cuss out and vilify one another.

I know that people will oppose that statement. They’ll say things like: But I’m not a racist! Sure sometimes I distrust people who are culturally different, but that’s because most terrorists are… True. Most terrorist that attack your country are culturally different. But ask yourself this: how many soldiers from your country are currently serving within another’s boarders? And how many of that countries inhabitants would view those men and women as terrorists? Because I can confidently say that even though those men and women are acting with best intentions, those intentions are not always wanted.

Even just assuming that someone is more likely to be dangerous or pose a threat to your belief systems or safety is in itself a case of racism. I myself am happy to admit that at some stages in my life I have been incredibly insensitive and racist. Thankfully, in those lower moments I’ve had the good graces to keep my heinous thoughts to myself and my mouth firmly shut. I remember once catching a flight not long after a series of terrorist attacks overseas and finding myself standing at a boarding gate casting a suspicious eye over anyone who looked different to me. Jesus, that guy has a headdress on. He might be a suicide bomber! Or I don’t like the way that guy with the beard is pacing over there. He looks nervous. Like me might try and….

Yep. I’ve had those racist thoughts. And I’m betting most of my readers have at some point too. But unlike some, I’m prepared to admit when I have strayed into this mindset of vilification and stereotyping and can give myself a wrap across the knuckles for doing so.

Recently I’ve been witnessing a lot of negativity surrounding the rights of Islamic women and a slanderous campaign to ban the burqa. The campaign is hate mongering at its finest; accusing Islamic women of having something to hide from society, and demanding that they unveil themselves if they wish to exist within our supposedly free social system. The whole idea is ludicrous, and the fact that anyone could be so put out by something that has no immediate concern to them makes my mind boggle. I couldn’t give a shit about whether the woman next to me was wearing a bikini, a t-shirt, or a burqa. It’s no business of mine as to how anyone choses to dress. In fact, if I was going to cast judgement it would probably be directed at the girl getting around with her assets hanging out for the world to see. She ought to gain a little more self-respect and leave something to the imagination.

A few days ago I read an online post by some halfwit piece of shit who tried to compare the wearing of a burqa to wearing a balaclava in a public place. His claim was that if a woman of Islamic faith was able to wear a burqa within a public shopping centre then he should theoretically be able to wear a balaclava and conceal himself from the world. The post gained a lot of support from fellow ignorant losers, but failed to touch on a few important points…

Firstly, anyone who thinks that wearing a mask designed to conceal an identity is similar to an article of religious face is a fucking piece of shit. And anyone who supports such blatant racism and degradation of faith is just as worthless. Secondly, as a white middle class male living within Australia you are in effect, the son of immigrants. Your ancestors came here illegally and claimed this land as their own, showing disregard for the true indigenous owners of the land. So, if you want to get technical with your ‘go back to where you came from’ hate mongering, you better pack your bags and back the fuck on up; because by your own twisted logic you don’t belong here anymore than that Islamic woman trying to go about her business. And finally, imagine how you would feel if you were living in a world where your race was ridiculed, isolated, and disparaged because a minority of fanatics can be loosely associated with you.

Imagine waking up every fucking day and being forced to suffer through sideways glances, muffled snickers, and the judgement of uneducated arseholes. Imagine being judged because of something you believe in, or because of the colour of your skin…

…You know what? Fuck it. Let’s cast aside the politically correct bullshit. You want to know what the difference is between a burqa and a balaclava in your little public security rant you backwards fuck? A woman of faith will happily remove her burqa for security purposes in a private setting if need be; preferably in the presence of a woman, but if needed she will in front of a male too. You on the other hand, refused to remove your balaclava when requested multiple times. You’re not a hero. And you’re not a role model. You’re a sorry piece of shit who deserves his fucking teeth kicked down his throat for inciting hate and ignorance. The fact that you think you have a right to undermine a faith you clearly know nothing about only serves to highlight your own short sidedness. I hope to God that someone tracks you down and breaks your fucking jaw for your little stunt.

Breathe Chris. Breathe. Let’s get to the point of all this.

Here we go…

How much longer are we going to be influenced within our society by the ignorant, the miss-educated, and the bigots? How much longer are we going to allow the opinions of people of a certain colour or religious creed to be shaped and altered by those with a big mouth and undersized brain? How much longer are we going to continue trying to convince ourselves that we live in a fair and free society when there are people suffering persecution for their skin colour or faith every goddamn day?

Free your mind. Open your eyes to the negative bullshit and hate all around you and make your own decisions. You can’t judge an ethnic class or culture based on the actions of a few. We tell our kids that you can’t judge a book by its cover, but it seems that if that book is a Quran, or the Torah, or whatever the fuck else runs incongruous to our own beliefs, than we are happy to judge the shit out of it.

But we can’t keep living like this. It has to stop. We as a species have to come together and do away with the squabbling. Divided we are weak. But united we can save ourselves from our own narrow-mindedness and self-imposed racial oppression. Take a look at all of the death, destruction and sacrifice around the globe caused by cultural division. We are fighting wars that cost us millions of lives and tear apart the fabric of our society. We get hit with a stick, so we find a bigger one and hit back. And this game of racial tit-for-tat continues until we are trading sticks for arms and leaving battlefields awash with blood. We are supposedly the pinnacle of evolution on this earth, yet we are the only species engaged in war. We are the only species who kills out of hate and intolerance.

Love one another as I have loved you; treat others how you would like to be treated; an eye for an eye. We are all singing the same tune just in different tongues. It’s time that we learned a little of one another’s dialect and started making music together rather than competing for the same damn airwaves.

Free your mind. End the vilification. And if you still believe it’s your god given right to degrade and vilify, send me a message. I’m more than happy to beat some sense into your racist head.

The Depths: Are you OK?

‘I’ve got friends by my side. I’ve got hope in my eyes. And dreams to aspire to. And the whole wide world to watch below.’
-Joel Birch

This Thursday the 11th of September is a very special day. I know that there are the obvious reasons as to why September 11th is forever marked as a day of remembrance, celebration of life and triumph over adversity. I can still remember standing in front of the television dressed in my school uniform watching as the modern world was forever altered. But it’s an event much smaller, yet no less important that marks September 11th as a day I believe should all mark in our calendars.

This Thursday, the 11th of September is the fifth annual R U OK day. A day where we are asked to create open dialogue with our friends and family, and ask the question we often neglect to ask in our overly erratic and face paced lives: Are you OK?

Founded in 2009 by Gavin Larkin, R U OK? Strives to inspire us to create meaningful dialogue to assist those of us struggling with mental illness.

As someone who has stumbled more times than he cares to count, the day is something that I whole-heartedly endorse. And I implore every single one of you to take a moment and sit down with a family member or friend and create a moment of intimacy and support that may just save a life. Sometimes a kind word or a moment of compassion means more to someone than you could ever possibly imagine.

Oftentimes on this blog I make light of the fact that I’ve pushed myself beyond breaking point with my own mental wellbeing. I reference my sometimes deliberate downward spirals into despair as a means of creating art and establishing a unique voice as I strive to be a singularity. But the truth is that some of my lesser moments have been no laughing matter. I’ve been sick. I’ve been low. And I’ve been totally alone, picking at my own mental scabs so as to leave my bones exposed. And while I do play on my own fractured mind with tongue in cheek, I cannot stress enough just how much I relied on the support of the people I love, yet tend to push away to save me from myself in my desperate times.

Even now I appear to be calm, happy, and at peace with myself. But the truth is there is a fire burning inside of me that will always threaten to consume my soul and leave me empty and alone once more. Am I OK? Perhaps on the surface I am. But the truth is this: I torture myself through my writing. I currently have two manuscripts under construction, a blog that I bombard with wildly erratic tales of elation and tragedy, and a completed novel under consideration for professional representation. I create acquaintances not friends; because I struggle to let people in for fear that they will see the monster in me. I’m in love with someone who sees me as an absolute cluster-fuck of raw emotion and insecurity. And sometimes I lay awake at night and wonder what it would be like if I never started this writing shit. I question whether I’d be happier, whether I’d be more willing to accept my own limitations, or more willing to let other people in.

The point is that our greatest failing as a species is that we only have the ability to see what is on the surface. When we look at our friends and family and see them smile, we naturally assume that everything is OK; that they are happy. But sometimes there is a fragility hidden beneath their smiles, a vulnerability concealed in their laughter, which can only be discovered if we take the time to truly connect with them. Have you ever heard the story of Pagliacci? It’s a simple story within one of my favourite novels of all time: Watchmen. It goes like this…

I heard joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he’s depressed. Life seems harsh, and cruel. Says he feels all alone in threatening world. Doctor says: “Treatment is simple. The great clown – Pagliacci – is in town. Go see him. That should pick you up.” Man bursts into tears. “But doctor…” he says “I am Pagliacci.” Good joke. Everybody laugh. Roll on snare drum. Curtains.

Sad isn’t it? Yet so true. We misconstrue happiness and we fail to see just how powerful our thoughts, our feelings, and our words can truly be. But all is not lost, and although we so often become consumed with our own lives we can still stop and make time for each other. Unity is intrinsic and compassion, honesty, and candour are the only cure to mental illness. Take me for example: I’ve got pride by the fucking bucketful and before this blog I would never have even considered sharing my lower moments with anyone. I thought that my depression was a weakness and something to be ashamed of. And while it is a weakness, that weakness is in the chemistry of the chemical make up in my brain. Not in my character. My illness and my lower points are not something to be ashamed of at all. In fact, being able to speak about mental illness is about the bravest thing anyone can do. Having the guts to say ‘you know what? Fuck it. I’m not OK’ is something that should be celebrated not condemned.

So, this Thursday the 11th of September I beg of you to ask the question of those around you: Are you OK? Listen, empathise, and grow together. To paraphrase the epigraph above; help those who are low to realise that they have friends by their side; that they can have hope in their eyes. And that they can have dreams to aspire to; and a whole wide world to watch below. Your kindness just may pull someone back from the depths of their own self destruction. Take it from someone who has been there.

Brevity and Vulgarity

“To take away our expression is to impoverish our existence.”
-Roughton Reynolds.

You may have noticed that I swear a lot in my writing. I’m not afraid to throw out a few fucks or whatever else in order to drive home my ideas and strengthen my arguments. So it probably comes as no shock to anyone that I’ve been called vulgar from time to time. It seems as though there are individuals out there who don’t necessarily resonate with my abrasive style and slightly warped world view. As a writer still very much in the infancy of my career this disconnect that some readers appear to have with my work should be concerning. It should be something that I seek to rectify in an effort to really ramp up my palatability and readership until I can confidently say that I am accomplished at my craft. It should be…. But instead I just think fuck them. If you don’t resonate with my style then go find an author who’s sensitive bullshit speaks to you.

See, my love for vulgarity all comes back to the concept of brevity. For those of you who haven’t heard the term before, brevity is essentially a noun meaning: concise and exact use of words in writing or speech. Which doesn’t really mean much on the surface does it? How can my love of the taboo be explained by concise and exact use of words? Well, to break it down in another way: I am a firm believer of the expression just fucking write what happens. In this industry readers have come to expect a certain amount of fluff in their literature. If something is considered easier to digest by the masses than it will generally find a home on bookshelves around the planet. But that’s boring. And in my opinion if we are constantly trying to create work that panders to this notion of fluff we are forever damned to consume second rate shit.

Writing is about expression. It’s about passion, love, loathing, fear, and whatever the hell else. It should never be censored and it should never contain more than the bare minimum of fluff. In my mind brevity sometimes comes from embracing what we want to say, what we want to express, and stripping it back to the bare bones so that all of its failures and faults are exposed for the reader to acknowledge and accept as their own. When I write fiction if I want someone to be punched in the fucking face I’ll write exactly that: so and so got punched in the fucking face. Clear, concise, and brutal as all hell. And you know what? I bet right now after reading that you can picture someone getting smacked in the nose.

Likewise when blogging, if I think someone is a fucking cunt I’m going to write exactly that. If I think that a concept is flawed I’ll call it. And if I feel as though my own mind is breaking apart underneath the internal pressures I place upon myself I’ll call it as I see it. And for the record, if I create a piece about tearing down a glass house and it doesn’t speak to you that’s just too damn bad. Not everything I read speaks to me either.

The point is, just because a piece of writing is vulgar it doesn’t necessarily mean that it is without merit. In fact, more often than not it hints at a deeper emotional connection between writing and writer than a piece of over-fluffed bullshit could ever hope to mimic. So, yes; I’m often offensive and abrasive in my writing. But I’m also brutally honest with myself and with my reader and that is the most beautiful thing that a writer can ever be: honest. Because through honesty brevity can be born. And through that brevity, that concise and exact writing or speech, a reader can become one with the author and they can undertake the journey of learning, pleasure, pain, triumph and tragedy together. Life is seldom perfect, so why should literature be? Cut the fluff, inject the passion. And write from the fucking heart.

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