kylaw

World Youth Day

Fri, 20 Jun 2008 06:47:25 GMT

I think this about sums it up:

Not even speaking as a pagan. Just a commuter.

Roles to Play

Wed, 21 May 2008 07:47:42 GMT

It is official : David and myself are Local Guests of Honour at the inaugural Gencon Australia. Along with such luminaries as Stephen Dedman and Marianne de Pierres, we shall be giving readings, dispensing advice and generally filling out panels on either side of the Overseas Guests of Honour whom everyone has actually come to see. Still, they're paying our expenses, there's a LARP stream, and I actually do want to meet Tracy and Laura Hickman. All details (including ours) can be found here.

This is vindication, isn't it? I mean, of all those times I was told to stop wasting my time on stupid games. For all the times I told myself to stop wasting time on stupid games. For the incident with the black lycra body-stocking and the blood & bone fertilizer, ahem. What's something new I can say about writing horror?

A Sideshow

Fri, 02 May 2008 23:11:33 GMT

Might I recommend the Carnaval Diabolique, presently featured at the Black Phoenix Alchemy Laboratory, to those connoisseurs I just know are out there? Pleasant prose and delightful images.

Dis-content Makers

Tue, 22 Apr 2008 08:06:44 GMT

I understood this to be theoretically possible, but I had no idea some professor at a Business School in the US had actually done it. And was actually selling the results!

Automaton author writes up a storm

I remember reading a Clifford E. Simak story (the title of which escapes me) concerning a future where the human facility for creating fiction had become its bookmark, as it were, within the galactic community. But of course, with writing now so vital to the economy, the process had been completely mechanised with writing "by hand" considered a kind of unsavory anachronism. The impetus behind the piece was clearly the author's distrust of word processors, but I think the basic principle can be extrapolated to the present case. Which was, basically, only a writer can write and farming out so much as grammar- or spell-checking to a machine just isn't going to help.

Yes, I know that Mr Parker has as yet only applied his algorithms to non-fiction (poetry doesn't count: automatic or mechanical poetry by far predates computers). He states that his newly patented process can replace human authorship only when the work involved is "mundane" or to involve a person would be "uneconomical". He states that his next challenge is to produce romance novels - or at least his algorithm does, which apparently produced the responses to the interview (why am I flashing back to Videodrome and Dr Brian O'Blivion?)

I'm not going to get all alarmist. I do wish to note that the idea that information exists in "units" and can be handled as "data" no matter what the content actually is, is one I have a big problem with. It's a idea with incredibly broad currency these days, because it is at heart an economic model. The corporation doesn't care what it sells or even what it produces. The decision on the future production and sale of product can be made by comparing things as different as peas and apples because the only criteria is their profitability in the open market. I see Parker as playing with this idea, with these niche-market "books" that can be produced on demand. But a book isn't an apple, it is a nexus of meaning. Who is taking the responsibility for the way the data is organised and the overall meaning that results? What is the agenda of the algorithm? In what context shall the reader fix the meaning of the work? Because there is no such thing as pure information.

And when does a topic become so mundane that there is no one with an expertise in the area, who knows the field and understands what kind of work is needed? And just when does having a human author become uneconomical anyway? When they insist on being paid? I for one contextualise this article within the ongoing debate about the ownership of intellectual property.

Griffin Mill: I was just thinking what an interesting concept it is to eliminate the writer from the artistic process. If we could just get rid of these actors and directors, maybe we've got something here.

- The Player, Michael Tolkin, 1992

A Very Bad Example...

Mon, 14 Apr 2008 11:26:44 GMT

"Concerning the execution of a book of devilry. On the sixth day or August, in the year 1463, at the command of my lords of the Chambre des comptes at Dijon, after consultation in this Chambre, a book made of paper and covered with leather that was coloured green was brought from the house and residence of the widow and heirs of Thomas of Dampmartin, during his life resident of Dijon. In this book were written many evil and false invocations of devils, divination, charms, and other things of the magical art, which give a very bad example and are against God and the holy Christian faith. In it were contained many descriptions of devils and other detestable figures and characters. At the end of the book were several chapters and articles on necromancy and chriomancy. This book had been seen by my lords of the Council and the Chambres des comptes. And after they had inspected it with great and serious deliberation... (lengthy list of the dignitaries present)... this book was cast into the fire and totally burned to cinders..."

A book execution. Apparently genuine.

I am currently reading Forbidden Rites by Richard Kieckhefer. It consists of the transcription, translation and analysis of a manuscript currently in the Bavarian State Library, purported to be the spell book of a medieval necromancer. It contains some gems, such as the story above (quoted by Kieckhefer from the Annales de Bourgogne) and this, from a lengthy ritual to gain the love of any woman;

"I conjure you and exorcize you and command you, that as the deer yearns for a fountain of water , so you N; should desire my love. And as the raven desires the cadavers of dead men, so should you desire me."

And the following (from Kieckhefer's gloss);

"Oldradus da Ponte explained in the early fourteenth century that invoking demons to tempt women is mortally sinful but is not heresy, because temptation is proper to the nature of demons and their use for this service thus implies no false belief."

Ah, the Middle Ages. So much more than plague.

Goths Night Out

Sun, 30 Mar 2008 09:29:16 GMT

I've completed my manuscript. There's a goth-industrial club running at the Sly Fox Hotel this Saturday. Those new anti-smoking regulations have been in for a while now. Hmm.

I stopped clubbing in the mid-90s upon realising I was spending more time outside chatting to the bouncer than inside inhaling the fumes. My various health problems, which were just hitting me at that point, include a zero tolerance of cigarette smoke. Although this barred me from the scene at the time, it increased my angst no end and forced me to assemble my own cd collection. And I never stopped buying the clothes...

So it's me and old friend J.M, who also hasn't been to a club in over a decade, off to Radioactivity. I'm wearing a new deep burgundy shirt with matching cravat, a magnificent spider brooch that ashamel bought me in London and the leather. Also, my best eye-makeup ever. Standing on the station platform, the spectacle of the guys and gals in their floral shirts and sequinned halters, kamikaze heels and advanced state of inebriation brings home to me the many benefits of being a goth. The music is great, you are always well-dressed and retain your dignity. You also get to have animated conversations on trains about necromancy and the legendary Newcastle cemetery game. J.M. is also a roleplayer of long standing. We remember all the same freeforms. We gossip shamelessly about the people we knew. Where are they now?

Well, a few of them were at Radioactivity. It is wonderful to recognise them, to be hailed by them, to have to summarise the years in highlights. It feels like history, as though we have in some way left a trace in the world. And being goths, none of us have grey hairs. One guy is unexpectedly bald, but that's cool.

I don't know. Something about blood red walls unevenly lit by spinning lights, intermittent smoke clouds (oddly enough, that stuff has never affected me) and a singer growling in German just soothes me. I feel relaxed and lairish. But it's the Cure that gets me up and dancing. Things don't really turn goth until the perennially elegant Montag starts her set at 1.00 am, but then we get the Cure, New Order, NIN (Head Like A Hole, no less!) the Tea Party, the Sisters and Clan of Xymox. People were dancing previously (including the group of afro-haired, flare-wearing adolescents who were clearly on ecstasy and had no idea where they were) but the moral is, you want to fill a dance floor, you play music you can sway to. Music you can writhe to: that's what corsets are for (and my leather cincher). And so much of that music was written in England about twenty years ago. I hold that Wombat's 2007 single Let's Dance to Joy Division is obviously about this phenomenon. Montag did not play Wombat, I hasten to add.

I dance. Get into the right space and there's no need to stop. The music comes in great waves with intricacies you may catch in your fingers. And those groups form, the mutual recognition of people with no connection outside of the song. Those who remain seated have Victorian silhouettes and sip from glasses of translucent green. Respectful, dark and elegant, just as I remember. Just as it should be. No need to stop at all, until the next DJ begins.

I have a complete manuscript for a paranormal romance. I can eat spelt bread. I can stay out dancing till 3.00 am without being totally dead the next day. Things are looking up.

After all that...

Thu, 27 Mar 2008 06:13:44 GMT

I have not made the final cut of the Orbit Manuscript Development Awards. Obviously did not sacrifice the right thing.

Done it

Mon, 24 Mar 2008 03:21:41 GMT

As of about an hour ago, I have a complete draft of Necromance. Thirty chapters. 164,000 words, of which nearly 100,000 were written in the last fifteen weeks. 17,000 or so of which were written in this last week. I do not appear to be dead. Most of my cast, however...

But you know, that's the really, really good thing about necromancy.

Taking a little nap now.

Sat, 19 Jan 2008 01:59:11 GMT

I have just now completed Chapter 19 of Necromance. Word count stands at 100,243. I have passed this not unimportant mark a chapter ahead of my estimate, but every chapter has been just that bit over 5,000. The death toll is rising, the sky over Sydney is darkening and the clues are falling into place as my protagonist flirts with damnation. In Chapter 20, serious hell breaks loose.

There is more to come. More than I at first appreciated. I've applied for the Orbit Manuscript Development Award which means I have until March 21 to get through it all, plus hopefully a consistency edit. That is why you've seen and heard nothing from me since November and why you are unlikely to for the duration. Now, Chapter 20. I'm sure I can animate something before dinner...

Kyla's Second Election

Sat, 24 Nov 2007 23:54:40 GMT

So, the Federal election is all but over and it looks like Labour can safely form a government. It looks like we will have a female Deputy Prime minister for the first time. It also looks like the Greens will hold the balance of power in the Senate.

The Greens have retained Senator Bob Brown but lost Kerry Nettle, which is very sad. It would be sadder, however, if two entirely new ones had not been confirmed. The change over is still eight months away, but a pre-emptive welcome to Scott Ludlum and Sarah Hanson-Young!

Locally, in Cook and Hughes, we didn't do so well. It looks like the Ice Maiden will retain her hold and that the Liberals will also keep Cook. Still, we took an estimated 6.1% of the vote in Cook and 5.4% in Hughes, placing us comfortably ahead of the Christian Democrats, Family First and the Huntin' and Fishin' mob.

So, all well and good. I myself spent half the day standing outside the Sutherland Uniting Church again, telling people that Greens in the Senate were third party insurance. Delivered right, that got laughs. A number of erstwhile humorists refused my flyers, telling me to "save the trees" and were naturally directed to the line at the bottom stating our material was 100% recycled. They and many others were invited to hand their flyers back after voting so they could be reused. I was asked to explain the Greens drugs policy this time, by a woman who seemed to be genuinely making up her mind, and one fellow said I had a nice accent. But overall, most of the people present seemed bored and the event kind of tired and flat, as though everyone already knew the results or were just flashing back to March. Not me, I hasten to add! I was bouncing all over the place - as a solo operative, to cover the streams of people coming from both directions. By 1.00 pm, I felt like a fricking salmon. Also, despite my best endeavours, I have been sunburned in some really odd places.

So, red and quivering, I bid you a good day. At this moment, I quite seriously do not intend to leave the house during the hours of daylight from now until the Equinox.

Australians all..

Wed, 21 Nov 2007 08:49:59 GMT

In advance of Saturday, this is a way you can vote and actually have some good come of it. And you won't be voting for people. You'll be voting for historical sites of beauty and interest around Sydney.

www.sydneypartnersinpreservation.com.au

Now, I don't pretend to understand the whys and wherefores that have involved American Express in this project, but come 14 December this year, the site with the most votes will receive upward of $185,000.00 for vital restoration work. You can vote for such delightful things as the gates of Waverley Cemetery, the Butterfly Room at the State Theatre and that obelisk in Macquarie Place. This is the first year this has happened, and the more interest generated, the more likely it will be repeated. Also, you are not restricted to one measly vote; you can vote once per day from now until the cut-off date.

To vote, you have to register at the site. In the course of doing so, I was presented with a series of questions relating to future email contact and such, all of which I was able to leave blank. Hopefully, that will be that, barring some serious good done for some of Sydney's exquisite sandstone.

An Icy Reception

Thu, 08 Nov 2007 09:18:20 GMT

This afternoon, the Greens candidates for the Federal seats of Cook and Hughes launched their campaign... in front of the office of Dana Vale, the liberal incumbent for the last ten years. You see, her office abuts a tiled public space between East Parade, the car park and a nice Thai restaurant. It was a perfectly legal assembly, which didn't stop the police turning up. Lord knows what they thought we were going do.

This, however, is what we did.

Dana Vale is one of a number of Liberal MPs who rejected the government's report on climate change, saying they did not believe that global warming could be human induced (she is also infamous for suggesting the Gallipoli-world theme park). So our ingenious candidates found an ice sculptor. Thus a three foot high portrait bust was unValed and subsequently melted in public while the launch was celebrated at the Thai restaurant.

Sister of Mercy

Sat, 06 Oct 2007 23:44:30 GMT

This is my sister's latest album cover.

Spooky ... Rebecca Ward in the cemetery of St Stephens in Newtown.
Photo: Jon Reid

It was printed in the Sydney Morning Herald, weekend edition 6-7 October, accompanying an article about The Darker Side of Newtown and Surrounds - a self-guided tour for the misguided which she researched, wrote and designed and which is now available from the National Trust.

The full article is here.

The National Trust is here.

Concerted Effort

Sat, 11 Aug 2007 01:29:56 GMT

everyone's got to have the sickness
'Cause everyone seems to need the cure.
- Cure, Metallica

Well, it wasn't Metallica we saw last night.

I came into work in my boots and the black ruffled shirt. After work, I added the waistcoat, the necklace from azhure and the makeup. After walking around the Pitt Street Mall like that for half an hour, I meet ashamel, we dine and head off to the Entertainment Centre. We had a damn good view (at the expense of our left ears, and eyes whenever they flashed that particular spotlight). Initially, we sat watching the floor and seats of the arena fill with a mixture of black - both corsets and casual - more ordinary "night out" dress in a variety of colours and one guy wearing a NIN T-shirt, speculating on the survival chances of the roadies clambering over the lighting rig.

Then the house lights go down. The stage lights flash blue and silver. And all over the floor appears the ghostly luminescence of mobile phones and small cameras, all recording the event for posterity. I swear, some of those people must have viewed the entire concert through a viewfinder. Even in the seats near us, people kept taking photos and snatches of live footage. I didn't see one security guard take one action, and I think I know why. Where would you start?

I myself scour You-tube for rare concert footage. But it seems a slightly sad way to experience the event in situ. Still, there was a point where recording was definitely cut to a minimum. I'll come to that.

For me, the concert proceeded in stages. I can't pretend to follow it blow by blow. Given it was Friday night, I took a little while to warm up. But that seemed to be the purpose of the initial set, a very mixed bag including Fascination Street and The Blood. After following Pictures of You with Lullaby - the personal favourite of nearly everyone, it seems - and a wonderful rendition of Figurehead, the mood soared with Love Song, Friday I'm In Love and Just Like Heaven. Then they shifted gears into heavy: sometimes I forget the Cure can just rock, with Shake Dog Shake and Wrong Number among others. Sometime during that last bit we got an endlessly encroaching black and white spiral on the back wall which, with the music vibrating my sinuses, actually made me dizzy.

But what can I really say about the Cure live? That this is the band which produced both Friday I'm in Love and One Hundred Years (and played both)? That their lyrics are still audible at however many hundred decibels they were generating? That they all seemed to actually be enjoying themselves, especially Robert Smith during Lullaby? That they played for over three hours with only fractional breaks before the three encores? Smith actually said, "I would never have thought three hours could be too short." Of course, by this point most of the audience was up and dancing - I mean, in the aisles as well as on the floor - I mean, they played A Forest and Boys Don't Cry - and the ground was shaking and you could actually hear the collective voice roaring back the words. Yes, of course we were dancing. I've never left a concert with my ears actually buzzing before, but it was so worth it.

I've been kicking myself for years that I didn't go and see them when I last had the chance. I was an impoverished uni student at the time, which may have been a factor. I certainly wasn't going to let this one go by. And I felt - frankly, there were times when I felt like I was twenty - no job, no apartment, no weird allergies, just bursts of writing and wild enthusiasm.

Will it translate into anything? I'll let you know when my ears stop buzzing.

Howard and Rudd in bed with the coal industry - Greens Ad

Sat, 04 Aug 2007 06:20:02 GMT

Not porn. Just disturbing.

A Novel Sensation

Sat, 28 Jul 2007 08:46:08 GMT

Another landmark of sorts. I have just completed Chapter 10 of my novel-in-progress. Necromance now stands at 51,600 words. I have, however, revised my earlier estimation of the book's completed length. This is looking like a third.

Now, if I can just stop volunteering for things... and rereading the Harry Potter sequence...

Spoiler Free

Thu, 26 Jul 2007 09:17:26 GMT

I have passed some notable reading landmarks this week.

Firstly, I have completed Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Worth the ride, oh yes. I shall say nothing, even forebear to mention what is possibly my favourite spell from the entire series. It begins with accio.... and they'd all be dead without Hermione, fifty times over!

Secondly, I have completed reading the total 68 short stories and 57 pieces of flash fiction entered into the Australian Horror Writers Association short story and flash fiction contest. When I agreed to be one of the judges, the estimate was about twenty or thirty total. This took considerably longer than HP#7 and was nowhere near so pleasant an experience. Still, it is the one that will, I am sure, make me the better writer. And there were definitely some things worth reading in there: in due course, you'll have the opportunity to read them yourselves. Accio slushpile!

Gargoyles Galore!

Fri, 08 Jun 2007 09:09:49 GMT

To all aficionados of the grotesque and graven: I have an article, "Australian Gargoyles", in this month's Art Monthly Australia. A colloquial history of gargoyles in Australia, incorporating commentary from contemporary sculptors and photos taken in three cities (and during two SF conventions). Art Monthly Australia is readily available in newsagents nationwide; gargoyles, too, can be found throughout this country in a bewildering variety of sizes, shapes and symbolism. They are excellent subject for photography but hard to interview. Still, I have done my best.

Yes, my icon is smoking. I'm sure I couldn't say what, but he's stoned.

Ditmar Finalists 07

Wed, 04 Apr 2007 09:57:28 GMT

Well, the 2007 Ditmar shortlist contains quite the embarrassment of riches. Not only has Prismatic been nominated for Best Novel, but "The Bat's Boudoir", my short story in Shadowed Realms #9, has been nominated appropriately and http://www.tabula-rasa.info has been nominated in whole for Best Fan Production. This is simply extraordinary. Thank you to everyone who nominated us in our varied guises.

Kyla's First Election

Sun, 25 Mar 2007 00:28:38 GMT

That statement needs qualifying, of course. As you might hope, I have voted before. At the last Federal election, David and I voted Absentee at the Australian Embassy in Paris, which was quite fun so long as you had no metal on you.

I was a Returning Officer during the UTS Student Council elections, the year that one party all ran under the names of STDs. I can't remember the point they were trying to make, but it was the early 90s. The sole motive for my involvement was that I got paid. By the Student Association, you understand.

But this is the first election I actually got involved as like, a partisan. I joined the Sutherland Greens after Howard won the last Federal election, and what a long three years it's been. So I letterboxed for the Greens. I helped organised the campaign launch for our local candidates. This is the first election where I don't just know who I voted for, I'm on first name terms with them and have met their husbands and children. As the local Media Officer I sent out numerous Press Releases, all of which were ignored.

And yesterday, I did the polling booth thing. You know those people standing between you and the entrance that you power-walk past trying to ignore? I mean, I'm good with that. For years I've done exactly the same thing. Still, I'll go into a little detail for the amusement value.

I took the precaution of dropping round to the booth, in this case a church hall, the afternoon before and chatted with the staff who were setting things up. They told me the best place to stand and advised that at the last election, partisans started arriving at 6.00 am.

I had signed up for the entire day. I wanted a good spot, preferably in the shade. So, at 6.00 am there I was, having traversed the four blocks between the church and my abode with a backpack full of How-To-Votes, posters under one arm, my chair under the other. The place was attractively shadowed and utterly deserted. I fiddled around, putting up my posters in what seemed to be advantageous positions and placing my chair beside a shrub, then sat down to try and digest my hasty breakfast.

The booth staff showed up en masse at 6.30 am. Lights went on in the church hall and busyness commenced.

The ALP arrived with the sun, around seven. We were preferencing them in Menai and Miranda, so all was quite chummy. The lady pulling a seemingly endless supply of posters and banners out of her hatchback said that the first time she volunteered, she arrived at 6.00 am. Spot the newbie, who was by now thoroughly chilled.

The woman handing out for the Christian Democrats arrived shortly after, all smiles. She seemed to be just one of those genuinely friendly people. Upon discovering she was not actually a party member, but was doing this to help out a friend, the ALP started trying to convert her.

We had voters turn up before the Liberals got there. By 8.00 am there was actually a queue. This may have been because the church were holding a sausage sizzle and cake stall, and the first thing that went on the grill was bacon. You could still see my posters and the shrub, but they were pretty much at the centre of a thicket of ALP stand-alones, amongst which the Liberals were now squeezing their own.

At this point I discovered that I was sitting next to a red back spider. The shrub was encircled by a brick curb on which I had laid my stacks of leaflets, and right there in the corner, not a hands breadth away from my, well, hand, there she was in all her black and scarlet glory. She made no aggressive moves. I decided we could probably ignore each other. I got out my 'Vote 1 Green' buttons, put one on my hat, and started working the queue.

I tell you, from that point until the moment I was unexpectedly relieved, it just didn't stop. I needn't have bothered with the chair, except that it was the right shade of green. I'd been warned that the first and last hours were really busy, with another surge expected around lunchtime, but between times it would ease off. Not here. We had all these people who should have been voting in Menai or Cronulla for a start. This was a dual polling booth for Miranda and Heathcote, and working out which leaflet to give people was a constant struggle, you had to ask and hope that they knew. This is how I know we had people from Glebe, Tamworth and the Central Coast turn up. What on earth were they doing in Sutherland? "Please consider the Greens," I said. "What, to legalise drugs?" Was my one hostile reply.

We had the police and rescue service turn up. To vote. We had surfies, bikies, and dear little nuns from the nearby Catholic nursing home and they all had their hands full of sausage sandwiches. The quantity of dogs and small children was breathtaking. As the sun climbed above the treeline, I began to feel quite faint. The ALP lady said I looked very pale. Why had I worn black? Well, I thought the badges might - look, the instructions said to wear something comfortable, okay? I left off the leather.

As the hours crawled by, everyone retreated to the shade. As the shade shrank, so did the gauntlet. If you wanted to avoid collecting paper, the trick was to attend just after midday and keep to the other side of the path. All us volunteers adopted the waterhole detente; the zebras and wildebeest lying down the lions. David arrived with my lunch and said that crocodiles did not observe the waterhole detente.

So, I'd been there for seven hours. Over half way. I was fanning myself with my hat when a woman I'd never seen before (all the volunteers were women except for the elderly guy handing out for the Liberals) turns up and says she's my relief. We work out that as this is a dual polling booth, I got my instructions and equipment from the Sutherland Greens, but she had gotten hers from the Illawarra group. Great co-ordination, guys, but I was scarcely complaining at this stage. I decided not to tell her about the redback spider, but moved all the leaflets. I wished her a good day and started home, meaning to come back at the end of polling and collect my chair.

I staggered in and collapsed on the lounge. Presumably I would have gotten through until 6.00 pm in some fashion, but reprieved, I just went to sleep. I did wake up in time to collect my chair, but I got drenched because by that time the Southerly had arrived with thunder, lightning and rain. Also Damian, who was coming over to play board games and had forgotten to vote earlier. He became literally the last person to do so in Sutherland.

So, it seems the Greens have secured 4 seats in the Upper House, which is double what we had and very good, and no seats in the Lower, which is a shame. We had high hopes for Balmain and Marrickville. Jill got 14% of the vote in Heathcote, putting her third behind Labour and the Liberals and above the anti-migration guys and the Democrats, Christian and otherwise. Julie got 9% in Miranda, which again meant third behind Labour and the Liberals and above the rest: she had an independent in there as well. These results are comparable to the last State election and maintain our funding. I avoided both sunburn and redback bites. Something bit me and my arm is still itching, but I am suffering principally from fatigue and ennui. Especially around the knees. I think I will rewatch "Gomez, the Politician", the Addams Family episode where they back their candidate to the grave, and pray that they don't hold the Federal election in hayfever season.

E-Tarot

Fri, 02 Mar 2007 08:05:56 GMT

You are The Moon

Hope, expectation, Bright promises.

The Moon is a card of magic and mystery - when prominent you know that nothing is as it seems, particularly when it concerns relationships. All logic is thrown out the window.

The Moon is all about visions and illusions, madness, genius and poetry. This is a card that has to do with sleep, and so with both dreams and nightmares. It is a scary card in that it warns that there might be hidden enemies, tricks and falsehoods. But it should also be remembered that this is a card of great creativity, of powerful magic, primal feelings and intuition. You may be going through a time of emotional and mental trial; if you have any past mental problems, you must be vigilant in taking your medication but avoid drugs or alcohol, as abuse of either will cause them irreparable damage. This time however, can also result in great creativity, psychic powers, visions and insight. You can and should trust your intuition.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Ditmars

Mon, 26 Feb 2007 10:15:11 GMT

Yes, it's that time of year again, when I am so pleased at completing my Ditmar nomination form that I share my thoughts with you.

These thoughts are, primarily -

That Ben Peek's 'The Souls of Dead Soldiers are for Blackbirds, not Little Boys' in Agog! Ripping Reads is really, really good. I have mentioned this previously.

That Anna Tambour's ‘See Here, See There’ in Agog! Ripping Reads is also really good.

That the correct category in which to nominate the ASIF review site - http://asif.dreamhosters.com/doku.php - is in fact Fanzine - For Work In Any Medium. I asked them.

That apparently, Best Professional Achievement is not the right place to nominate The Arrival . I was told this without being told what is.

That even though I didn't actually nominate it for the Atheling, Cat's Bookmark Review at http://www.talkingsquid.net/archives/author/sparks/ is certainly the most original piece of criticism I read last year.

Of course, you all know what David, Evan and I had published last year. I also had a short short in Shadowed Realms #9: the Redback issue. I can promise at least that it won't take you long to read.

Monster Name

Sun, 25 Feb 2007 11:06:40 GMT

Get Your Monster
Name

And that's on a good day.

Aurealis Award

Sun, 04 Feb 2007 00:10:24 GMT

Well now. Who'd have thought they came in little boxes tied with blue ribbon?

On 27 January 2007, at a very impressive-sounding function in Brisbane, Edwina Grey was announced to have won the Aurealis Award for Best Horror Novel published in 2006. As you have probably heard elsewhere, 'Prismatic' tied with Will Elliott's 'The Pilo Family Circus', which is a damn fine book and it's all okay by me. It was a bit of a shame that out of Edwina's three possible incarnations, not one could be there, but Rob Hood stood as proxy and collected the award for us. Last night (at the wedding reception of our mutual friends Bill and Michelle) David and I got our eager hands on it for the first time.

I had no idea what it was going to look like, but it turns out to be a very classy letters-etched-onto-transparent-wing-thing. It looks very nice on our 'mantle', and inspires us to invite people over to see it. First up, of course, is our co-author and the owner of Edwina's cats, Evan Paliatseas. Some kind of time-share arrangement is probably in order.

I've never shared in anything like this prize before (I did sound for a Tropfest finalist, but it's just not the same). I add my thanks to those of my co-writers, to everyone involved, including everyone who took the time out to congratulate us at the wedding reception. To Bill and Michelle, my very best wishes!

Singapore

Mon, 29 Jan 2007 11:49:17 GMT

Singapore is hot, wet and, as it turned out, contagious. How I didn't end up with the infection that afflicted poor David is a mystery. This is one of those cities built by the British East India Company in a place the locals didn't and for a damn good reason - you know the drill, mad dogs and Englishmen wear collars in 80% humidity. I understand that it exists to this day, as a genuine, independent city-state, because it would simply be too much trouble for anyone to assimilate, despite or because of its wealth and connections with so many of today's corporate superpowers. The friends we were staying with moved there for the Company (which shall remain nameless).

Things grow in Singapore. This would seem to apply to companies, tower blocks and above all to plant life - on roofs, overhead bridges, over every wall. My impression of the Botanic Gardens was that their main problem was stopping things growing there. A vivid green creeper wrapped around a branch turned out to be a snake. It just lives there, along with the orchids and bromeliads. Having said this, the island of Sentosa - the entire island - is one of the most completely artificial environments I have ever entered, at least on this scale. There is something about the concrete dragons and carefully sculpted water courses of the Rainforest Trail that makes shopping malls feel organic by comparison. Of course, there is something to be said for the comforts of an artificial beach.

There is a touch of colonial gothic to the city. The cathedral of Saint Andrew shines spotlessly white, from threshold to buttress and steeple. No stain of moss or jungle twiner is permitted to encroach upon its turf. It is a surprise to come across a pond of koi but there they are, brighter than the stained glass! Fort Canning once occupied the highest point above the harbour; only the walls remain there now, and the massive red gatehouse stands alone on a plateau of fig trees. The jungle would take them quickly enough, were they not officially sanctioned relics. I came across a pair of men and their truck parked next to remains of the English cemetery, a stand of elaborate crosses and columns. Plumes of steam rose from their equipment as they methodically cleaned them. Less massive memorials have been cemented into a wall running up to the Canning Park Function Centre.

About five minutes walk from our host's apartment was a Hindi Temple. Not a relic, this; cars were parked by its gates and each evening a plume of smoke rose from the offertory. I caught sight of a priest, nut brown bald, brow painted and waist wrapped in a saffron cloth. He carried fire and water. I should have liked to come back at a more appropriate time and visited as the signs said I might. I should have liked to wander through Little India and the Arab Quarter, and seen the Taoist Temple that once stood on the wharfside in Chinatown. Thanks to land reclamation schemes over the past century, it now stands completely surrounded by city buildings. I glimpsed many such things from train and taxi, green gables and bronze bells protruding from behind concrete and steel. What I wandered around, in air-conditioned semi-comfort was the Asian Civilisations Museum, where everything was safely tucked away behind glass.

I'm not much of a traveller, when all's said. To tell you what else I did in Singapore would involve a critical opinion of the first season of 'Torchwood' and a paen to our hosts' leather lounge suite. But, there was the sound of Chinese Opera and a taste of lychee tea. A glimpse of the neighbour's pampered white dogs, and of 'lovecats' scavenging in the omnipresent drains. Hot coffee in plastic bags with drinking tubes attached. A carousel made up of the animals of the Chinese zodiac. A cartoon seeming to involve teenage girls with chi powers and a magical, pulsating pumpkin. The scent emerging from the mighty buttressed trees, mist hanging about their branches as roller-skaters pass by underneath. These fragments will have to do, informing my dreams of trees with roots growing over cars and through windows, turning inexorably into snakes.