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Sunday 21 October 2012
So it's Sunday night and I'm going to tell you some wonderful news!
Let us keep this short so we can all go back outside to play in the streets of our youth once more.
It is essentially this Youtube video ("Autumn Earthbound - Pitch Your Book Australia 2012 - Top Ten" for those playing at home on decidedly blog-unfriendly computers):
As often happens with such things, the majority of the information needed is in the title (amazing!), but just for the sake of clarification, I'll explain why this video is particularly worth mentioning on a Sunday night.
This was my entry for the 2012 run of a competition called Pitch Your Book Australia, where they pick their top 10 and a guest publisher (PanteraPress this year) views these videos and selects their favourite. I imagine their favourite will be based on things like marketability, proof of some ability to write and/or speak about stuff, as well as a final criteria of the presentation itself - in the sense of whether it shows actual thought into presenting ideas in an interesting and otherwise engaging manner. Anyway, that's the gist of the comp, and the point of this post is I'm in the top 10.
Now calm down, everyone! I know you're probably jumping on chairs right now, but I need you to stop that and keep reading for a bit longer. Firstly, because you'll wreck your chairs doing that and who really has the money for more chairs these days? Secondly, because I need your help!
All you have to do is watch the video. If you like it, Like it! If you love it and/or have some burning desire to comment, absolutely do so, even if it is a burning desire to comment in a silly or redundantly excited way (because of course everybody's very excited by this point). That's all you have to do! I don't think the Viewcount will affect the judges' decision all that much, but honestly, I want people to know about this idea and tell me what they think, so please go nuts on that end.
Cheers,
John "Very Excited (Not Just For This Reason)" Back
P.S. Do have a look at the other entries as well. You'll see that my chances of winning are fairly slim by comparison to some of the other ideas that have made it through as well.
P.P.S. Sorry to those who live in places where it is not Sunday night. I cannot begin to understand your disappointment.
P.P.P.S Sorry to those who had plans to run in the streets of their youths again tonight. I just had so many things to say!
Let us keep this short so we can all go back outside to play in the streets of our youth once more.
It is essentially this Youtube video ("Autumn Earthbound - Pitch Your Book Australia 2012 - Top Ten" for those playing at home on decidedly blog-unfriendly computers):
As often happens with such things, the majority of the information needed is in the title (amazing!), but just for the sake of clarification, I'll explain why this video is particularly worth mentioning on a Sunday night.
This was my entry for the 2012 run of a competition called Pitch Your Book Australia, where they pick their top 10 and a guest publisher (PanteraPress this year) views these videos and selects their favourite. I imagine their favourite will be based on things like marketability, proof of some ability to write and/or speak about stuff, as well as a final criteria of the presentation itself - in the sense of whether it shows actual thought into presenting ideas in an interesting and otherwise engaging manner. Anyway, that's the gist of the comp, and the point of this post is I'm in the top 10.
Now calm down, everyone! I know you're probably jumping on chairs right now, but I need you to stop that and keep reading for a bit longer. Firstly, because you'll wreck your chairs doing that and who really has the money for more chairs these days? Secondly, because I need your help!
All you have to do is watch the video. If you like it, Like it! If you love it and/or have some burning desire to comment, absolutely do so, even if it is a burning desire to comment in a silly or redundantly excited way (because of course everybody's very excited by this point). That's all you have to do! I don't think the Viewcount will affect the judges' decision all that much, but honestly, I want people to know about this idea and tell me what they think, so please go nuts on that end.
Cheers,
John "Very Excited (Not Just For This Reason)" Back
P.S. Do have a look at the other entries as well. You'll see that my chances of winning are fairly slim by comparison to some of the other ideas that have made it through as well.
P.P.S. Sorry to those who live in places where it is not Sunday night. I cannot begin to understand your disappointment.
P.P.P.S Sorry to those who had plans to run in the streets of their youths again tonight. I just had so many things to say!
Friday 19 October 2012
So!
Let's start with the why, or more correctly the 'why I won't bother explaining myself for having left for 2 months without even a letter or a five-second voicemail message to say I won't be bringing in the mail from the cold wet outdoors for some time'. It's like that moment of absolute disappointment when you hope your friends have a reason to avoid your calls only to find they've been eating chips and dip in front of trashy television screens with friends who are frankly much more interesting than you for no particular reason at all.
Now that I've gone and filled the globe's bitterness quota for the entire year in the space of a paragraph, let's move on to some apologies. Sorry I've been so distant (read: busy OR hurting OR lazy), but let's try to move forward. Sorry I've let this place fall away so soon after the cement started to dry, but I will really try my hardest to get some walls up soon (so you know, I have a grand vision of turning this thing into a huge fantasy-esque tower. And yes, that does mean a pretty princess is waiting for me at the very top... take that how you will). Sorry I'm a crappy person, but aren't we all a little some times, so let's just keep those smiles smiling and see if we can find some beautiful things worth having.
You must be wondering why I've bothered to return though, now during the most stressful period of my life thus far. "Surely his madness has led him back to his own creation," would be my first guess, so if that was you, you deserve a prize. Go have a Coke to celebrate. The real reason is something I will discuss on Sunday night (not tonight, not tomorrow night, the night after that), but let's just say it's pretty exciting stuff. That's not to say that I'm coming back because I need my readers' help, though (although I will, so be ready for that). The unabridged truth is just that this thing has convinced me that I really need to keep updating blogs and writerly-like things such as this. I was in a bit of a 'funk' (think that awful episode of Glee except without all the crap writing and with much, much more singing), but now I'm back, baby!
And how lucky are you that I am?!
Cheers,
John "The Tired Undead" Back
Let's start with the why, or more correctly the 'why I won't bother explaining myself for having left for 2 months without even a letter or a five-second voicemail message to say I won't be bringing in the mail from the cold wet outdoors for some time'. It's like that moment of absolute disappointment when you hope your friends have a reason to avoid your calls only to find they've been eating chips and dip in front of trashy television screens with friends who are frankly much more interesting than you for no particular reason at all.
 |
| Things go better with Coke. Including bitter revivals of long-uninteresting blog posts (Courtesy: wavelab.be) |
You must be wondering why I've bothered to return though, now during the most stressful period of my life thus far. "Surely his madness has led him back to his own creation," would be my first guess, so if that was you, you deserve a prize. Go have a Coke to celebrate. The real reason is something I will discuss on Sunday night (not tonight, not tomorrow night, the night after that), but let's just say it's pretty exciting stuff. That's not to say that I'm coming back because I need my readers' help, though (although I will, so be ready for that). The unabridged truth is just that this thing has convinced me that I really need to keep updating blogs and writerly-like things such as this. I was in a bit of a 'funk' (think that awful episode of Glee except without all the crap writing and with much, much more singing), but now I'm back, baby!
And how lucky are you that I am?!
Cheers,
John "The Tired Undead" Back
Friday 10 August 2012
 |
| Are we all just dolls in a plastic grey world? (Courtesy: Looking Glass) |
Essentially my point is I’m a little bit rigid, I think, in
my inability to act like something I’m not. Weird since I have a degree in
drama, but hey, here we are. I refuse, when push comes to shove, to be moved to
prove myself, which I think is the entire purpose of changing ourselves, of
putting on airs. That is quite obviously crap. And fake. Pointless! So I
hate pretension when framed by dishonesty, and as far as I know I missed this
job (and several others) simply because I won’t lie my way through. It’s so
tragic to me that we compare ourselves to anyone else, that we give a damn at
all who anyone else is and try to become what they admire. Of course this means
I’m destined for a shitty future. Our entire society is standardised by
definition.
Maybe this works for some. Maybe they love the challenge,
the demand, or that they’re able to succeed in this so easily. Obviously some
part of this is because I find it difficult, and I’m hating on the idea more
than a little from resentment. But why not believe things, simply because you
believe them? Why does everything we think have to be so impressive to those
around us? Yes, we want to be accepted (countless research can be found on this
topic, which regardless of whether the results are valuable or not, at the very
least proves to us its merits of urgency through quantity alone).
 |
| Hipsters sit on the ground. Chairs are for the boring. (Courtesy: jdn) |
Hipsters have the right idea in mind, but fail completely in
practice. Sure, counter-culture is cool. Only it’s actually ‘cool’, which makes
it anything but, in my mind. So if you were to follow me behind bushes you’d
hear at least four stories a day of degrading and unbarred insults, all
flippant jabs at philosophy made poser-ish.
Don’t think I hate the idea of NOT following social mores, but
just because you don’t want to be seen a follower is ridiculous. By all means,
we should strive to understand what makes us unique, how separate we are from
each other. ‘Embrace your individuality’, as every English teacher and every
young adult novel attests adamantly (which you might find overdone or cliché,
but it’s only repeated so much because people just don’t seem to get it).
It’s all about the thought behind it. No-one really seems to
believe anything anymore – I say, as if anyone ever did. I wish everyone (or a
decent few, at least) would give a damn about this world, instead of simply
purporting to. If the thought is genuine, it will also be original. And if it’s
not the newest way of thinking that the world has ever seen, so what?
 |
| Go fly, young ones unique! Yep, take this image VERY seriously (Courtesy: fox_kiyo) |
Not saying that I get this right myself. I’m always falling
short of this ridiculously Olympic-like bar I’ve raised. But I think it’s
important, and I swear I’m not alone. Everyone hates a poser, right?
Cheers,
John "Blandness" Back
Saturday 4 August 2012
In the last week, I've seen three things which I just had to share with you.
1. I tagged along to an 'In Conversation With' event being held at the State Library at the beginning of the week. Garth Nix was the special guest and the audience was some fifty to a hundred people (my estimations are about as good as my analogies, so let's just call it a small group). As always, I sat in the second last row. I suspect this is actually a response to watching the Bourne movies too many times, as I always think it gives me a certain edge over everyone else - which is not true. It usually means I see less of the on-stage action and have further to run to reach the door, but this is what I do. The point of this story wasn't my seating preferences, though, so let's keep moving.
The star was a girl two rows in front of me. She must have been about my age, and she was OBSESSED with Garth. Every single line was met with either a ridiculous laugh or a deeply, deeply understanding nod. She was bouncing (literally as well as figuratively) the whole way through, and the true highlight of the session came when Garth was looking through his piles of writerly stuff for a print of his latest book's cover, only to find a copy of the book waving furiously above her seat. "I have it! Use mine!" she screamed (or so I heard). Nice as the offer was, he carried on and found the cover print he was looking for. I'm not bitter-less enough that it didn't annoy me just a little every time she appeared to die upon his words. And there's always at least one. Sometimes there are more and it becomes a Fan War convention where each battles headlong for the friendship of the author. It frustrated me at first, because it seemed too keen. Then I realized I was wrong.
2. If I ask you out in the next few days, ignore what I'm about to say. I hate asking girls for dates. Maybe from a fairly tragic record, or maybe because my natural resistance to prove myself to people clashes with everything that is the dating system. So what then shall I do, when society begs for conforming? (NOTE: not a hipster). Some girls seem worth it and I wonder why I feel so compelled to ignore my own thoughts. Every now and then one comes along so pretty by face, so inspiring in whatever way I find them to be inspiring, that beliefs become obsolete in the enormity of what I know I must in fact do. My crushes are maybe a little different to any normal person's, which I think stems from my complete fear of the normal thing. And so here's the second story of this week.
My current crush (this term seems to mean a lot more in my lifelong narrative than I'm willing to admit) works in a library. Kind of. Anybody who lives in Brisbane, I dare you to try and find her. But don't. In an attempt to overcome some of my more crippling social problems, the next time I see her I am obligated to ask her out. Now I am petrified of libraries. I only visited one this the last month, and I was gone within five minutes. It's now been a little over four weeks since I saw this girl, but this coming Monday I will see her again, because at this point I have to. Yesterday I 'read a book' outside her library for a little over an hour before realizing that if I didn't leave soon I'd get nothing done all day.
You want to slap me across the face, don't you? Yell and spit and curse all kinds of pitiful? "This is just stupid," you say. "There's no reason to be so worked up. It's just a date." Tell me about it. What a cowering beast of a brain to have, one which follows me though I want desperately to leave it behind a thoughtless horizon. I'm not sure what exactly is stopping me. Nerves, undoubtedly, but to what end? And gee, I'd just love an answer right now.
3. The last was on the ferry home only yesterday afternoon. A girl (I always seem to notice the girls. Wonder why) walked to the till inside and asked for a ticket. That will be $2.30, thanks. No, we can't accept card as payment. She apologised and turned to jump off ship.
"Where are you going?" asked another of the ferry's crew.
"I don't have any cash. It's alright, I'll take the next ferry," she replied.
"Don't do that. I'll pay for your ticket."
The girl stepped back inside in careful deliberation. "Are you serious?"
"Yes, of course I am. Come on, go sit down. I'll take care of it for you."
So sweet. Bus drivers take note.
Cheers,
John "The Frail One" Back
P.S I hope to hell the girl from 2 doesn't read this blog. It's all... a joke?
1. I tagged along to an 'In Conversation With' event being held at the State Library at the beginning of the week. Garth Nix was the special guest and the audience was some fifty to a hundred people (my estimations are about as good as my analogies, so let's just call it a small group). As always, I sat in the second last row. I suspect this is actually a response to watching the Bourne movies too many times, as I always think it gives me a certain edge over everyone else - which is not true. It usually means I see less of the on-stage action and have further to run to reach the door, but this is what I do. The point of this story wasn't my seating preferences, though, so let's keep moving.
The star was a girl two rows in front of me. She must have been about my age, and she was OBSESSED with Garth. Every single line was met with either a ridiculous laugh or a deeply, deeply understanding nod. She was bouncing (literally as well as figuratively) the whole way through, and the true highlight of the session came when Garth was looking through his piles of writerly stuff for a print of his latest book's cover, only to find a copy of the book waving furiously above her seat. "I have it! Use mine!" she screamed (or so I heard). Nice as the offer was, he carried on and found the cover print he was looking for. I'm not bitter-less enough that it didn't annoy me just a little every time she appeared to die upon his words. And there's always at least one. Sometimes there are more and it becomes a Fan War convention where each battles headlong for the friendship of the author. It frustrated me at first, because it seemed too keen. Then I realized I was wrong.
2. If I ask you out in the next few days, ignore what I'm about to say. I hate asking girls for dates. Maybe from a fairly tragic record, or maybe because my natural resistance to prove myself to people clashes with everything that is the dating system. So what then shall I do, when society begs for conforming? (NOTE: not a hipster). Some girls seem worth it and I wonder why I feel so compelled to ignore my own thoughts. Every now and then one comes along so pretty by face, so inspiring in whatever way I find them to be inspiring, that beliefs become obsolete in the enormity of what I know I must in fact do. My crushes are maybe a little different to any normal person's, which I think stems from my complete fear of the normal thing. And so here's the second story of this week.
My current crush (this term seems to mean a lot more in my lifelong narrative than I'm willing to admit) works in a library. Kind of. Anybody who lives in Brisbane, I dare you to try and find her. But don't. In an attempt to overcome some of my more crippling social problems, the next time I see her I am obligated to ask her out. Now I am petrified of libraries. I only visited one this the last month, and I was gone within five minutes. It's now been a little over four weeks since I saw this girl, but this coming Monday I will see her again, because at this point I have to. Yesterday I 'read a book' outside her library for a little over an hour before realizing that if I didn't leave soon I'd get nothing done all day.
You want to slap me across the face, don't you? Yell and spit and curse all kinds of pitiful? "This is just stupid," you say. "There's no reason to be so worked up. It's just a date." Tell me about it. What a cowering beast of a brain to have, one which follows me though I want desperately to leave it behind a thoughtless horizon. I'm not sure what exactly is stopping me. Nerves, undoubtedly, but to what end? And gee, I'd just love an answer right now.
3. The last was on the ferry home only yesterday afternoon. A girl (I always seem to notice the girls. Wonder why) walked to the till inside and asked for a ticket. That will be $2.30, thanks. No, we can't accept card as payment. She apologised and turned to jump off ship.
"Where are you going?" asked another of the ferry's crew.
"I don't have any cash. It's alright, I'll take the next ferry," she replied.
"Don't do that. I'll pay for your ticket."
The girl stepped back inside in careful deliberation. "Are you serious?"
"Yes, of course I am. Come on, go sit down. I'll take care of it for you."
So sweet. Bus drivers take note.
Cheers,
John "The Frail One" Back
P.S I hope to hell the girl from 2 doesn't read this blog. It's all... a joke?
Sunday 29 July 2012
Sometimes when reading a book, only one word comes to mind.
Not because the prose is lacking, or the ideas aren’t complicated enough to illicit
more than one-word responses. Simply because a sort of stuntedness wraps your
brain so that all you can do is try to keep reading behind endless circles in
your mind of ‘wow’ or ‘incredible’. This is just my lame way of saying that even
at the end of Steph Bowe’s Girl Saves Boy,
even after scouring the dictionary for anything at all, I still had only one
thought: how could anything be so sweet?
 |
| Don't spend the entire novel waiting for fairy lights. They will, but not how you expect. |
GSB is a love story
of two teenagers: Sacha Thomas, a terminally ill boy who collects garden gnomes
from others’ gardens, and Jewel Valentine, an emotionally distanced sketch
artist haunted by death. It begins as any happy story will, with Sacha
attempting to drown himself in a lake and Jewel coming bravely to his rescue.
This is their first meeting, and we are lucky enough to see how these two
preciously damaged souls come together with their individual pains.
And sweet is definitely the single word which retains for me
throughout the entire story. Not because it is blissfully unaware – plenty of
unhappiness ensues, from terminal illnesses to broken families and death,
unrequitedness and the impossibility of teenage normalness – but because it
breaks past all of these with a sense that none are alone and the world isn’t
worth giving up on just because your life is looking bleak.
I’d like for people to get this idea from my own writing.
Honestly, if ever there is a Best of John Back collection where every single thing
was fundamentally flawed in a perfectly appreciated, all-the-better-for-it kind
of way, I’d well and truly die from pride. This is, I think, my most simple and
most important conception of life so far: enduring optimism.
I’m not sure if the author intended this to be quite so
prevalent as I have taken it to be. Some readers will find heartbreak and
intense, lonely pain and they won’t see any of what I’m talking about. But I
think this is because we are conditioned to want pain, to search for it
unrelentingly to remind us that feelings are human, that we’re allowed to be
downtrodden even if we need a sad story and broken characters to get us there.
I’m not saying to fall apart immediately and irreparably if something goes
wrong, I just wish we could celebrate sadness like we do happiness. Anyway!
Regardless of whether Bowe wished for this or not, for me I
found the most joy in the fact that something prevailingly uplifting was
published in a (let’s face it) fairly passively-aggressive pessimist’s
playground. It gives me hope that there is a market for that which is not
degrading, depressing or intrinsically critical of everything human. Maybe this
is simply because the author was a mere 15 years old at the time of writing
(which I still don’t fully believe) and had not been made brazenly agitated by
humanity yet. And something I honestly believe is that the major strength of
this GSB lies in the age of its
author: that excluding the characters who are rife with multi-tragic pasts and
the plot which moves in terrific speed, this novel is wonderfully simple. Not in
a negative sense. Not from being under-thought or hinderingly naive. Its
simplicity stems from a childlike state, from an honest, non-embittered view of
the world which most authors would (wrongly in my opinion) consider ‘unworthy’
of literary value.
I applaud Steph Bowe for this, though she may find it embarrassing
now, being older and having seen more of the dark world. I wonder if sweetness
is attainable once you reach a certain age, or is it something which will
forever be stuck in the ‘wonder years’? Can we ever allow ourselves as thinking
adults to stay simple, to accept anything for what it honestly could be? Or are
we all too far gone for that? I’ll certainly be doing everything I can for it.
I hope GSB’s author will be doing the
same.
Monday 23 July 2012
 |
| Yes, that flying sea horse IS holding a mushroom. |
It’s about time I get down to the business of it, since five
posts is just a little too much waffling for a thing like this. Despite the
common opinion among friends, family and those who know nothing about me
except that which is on this blog, I do actually do other things except stare
at old people and read far too much manga. Since quitting English manga, in
fact, I’ve done quite a lot of other things (since distraction is the best cure
of addiction). What have I been doing? Writing creative!
Well, thinking about writing, at the very least. My
discipline is far from regimented (more like craftily enforced by a drunkard
asleep on a snowy patch next to... okay, let’s put an end to that simile before
I get all writer-like up in here). The point is I’ve had a lot of stories
running around in my head but due to time restraints and lack of energy (I
swear young adulthood should be medically recognised) I’ve been very slack in
pulling them from the air to the page. And maybe the fact that I use phrases
like ‘pulling’ which are completely synonymous with a withered donkey trudging
a wagonload behind him is not the best way to enthuse myself back into it. No,
let’s use dainty words like ‘plucking’ or ‘cajoling sweetly’. That sounds much
better.
What has become most apparent in my writing creative (and
this has strangely been somewhere between consciously realised and subconsciously
ignored) is the inclusion of two things: magic and tragedy. This might sound as
unreasonable as drinking red wine from a gravy boat, but I assume that one or
two people are out there who just might be into that sort of thing. Rejoice,
the strange few who have finally been given a voice! Or at the very least a
story or two to read and enjoy in some small amount.
Of course, there is a lot more detail involved in both of
those elements than that which I’ve given you, however really the only reason I
mention this right now is to give you an idea why I am currently obsessed with
fairy tales.
 |
| Question for the writer: Is this the world you are looking for? |
And some may have noticed that fairy tales are EVERYWHERE
right now. Snow White has popped from the Hollywood archives twice in this year
alone, and Once Upon a Time is doing something or other with fairy tales, I’m
sure (I still haven’t convinced myself to watch it. What do you people think?).
An optimistic me would say, “Swell! The market is already preparing itself for
your long-awaited foray!” The real me hopes to hell that I don’t miss the peak
and become ‘that’ writer that could have been big if they’d just been a bit
quicker.
In any case, I am at current working on a series of fairy
tales with somewhat of a long-term plan in action. It works like this:
- Answer the question “What is a fairy tale?”, as well as any other prevailing philosophical, religious or emotional quandaries which might hold you back
- Write 10 fairy tale short stories each set in the same world, each attempting to reveal one or two more layers of the over-arching setting (this is my first time building an entire world, so I am hoping the thought process will help me get there with tangible results along the way)
- Emerge from writer hole (if you can still find the surface) and buy supplies (toothbrushes, candy, etc.) with slim amounts of remaining funds
- Dive back in and write some more
- Appear with breakthrough full-length fairy tale story (ie. novel length) and hand it to the first publisher I see on the street
- Upgrade writer hole to private resort, including palm tree hammocks and constant classic 60’s rock music across entire area
I think it seems fairly reasonable, give or take a few minor
details. The plan is to try and get some of these stories published in
journals/online/wherever people will accept them, so I am hoping that you will
actually get to read them and be able to experience the world as we move
towards the big project at the end.
 |
| Maybe this should be what I'm going for. Exactly how I remember Hansel and Gretel! |
Alternatively, I think I will start updating my Facebook and
Twitter accounts fairly regularly once I get a bit of a schedule developed, so
any super keen readers are welcome to tag along for the ride (and comment from
the back-seat, if you so wish!).
Hopefully this gives a little bit more of an idea what I’m
getting up to between these posts. I realize after typing it all that this may
just be a tad on the boring side. If so, I sincerely apologise on behalf of all
now-fired employees responsible.
Cheers
P.S. Is it annoying when I say ‘writing creative’? I can’t
decide if it’s annoying, pretentious, stupid, grammatically incorrect, or if I’m
breaking new ground here.
Monday 16 July 2012
Apologies unending must be given on my behalf for being
nothing but incompetent the last two weeks. Sorry everyone, I guarantee I’ll be
more on top of it.
I must admit, when I started this series, I wasn’t convinced I’d like it. I struggled through, trying to find something to convince me to finish. There are 22 volumes in total, after all, so it’s no small task to reach the end. That is, until everything starts and you realize you’re completely addicted. I won’t say anything about the plot because it’s hard not to ramble and spoil like a madman, but (and this is completely objectively speaking, because honestly, there is no denying of this) the story, the characters, the artwork, all are damn impressive. Seriously, if you want to be convinced that quality manga exists, start with Naoki Urasawa.
This one’s a little bit wilder. In fact, it’s insane. Here’s
the plot in its most basic form:
A young boy named Tsuna is a no-hoper in every way, failing
in school, sports, romance, everything. To his surprise (but not to the
surprise of any reader) a mysterious guest arrives and shakes things up. Who is
this person? That’s right, a baby with a gun! Oh, what’s that? The baby is from
a prestigious mafia family and Tsuna is set to become the new boss? Oh, and the
baby (named Reborn) shoots Tsuna in the head to unlock his near-death powers?
Yes, I saw all of that coming as well.
Next time I’ll be bringing to The
Boobahdore some news about my writing, because I have yet to mention anything
about writing and I call myself a writer in the first few words of my bio! See
you then!
Cheers,
John "the loafer" Back
So for the next few posts I thought I’d talk about what I’ve
been getting up to (not intentionally a justification for my lack of posting,
although you can take it that way if you’d like. This is more a self-absorbed
thing, I suspect) and hopefully eventually I’ll be able to keep you guys more
up-to-date on everything.
Probably the most embarrassing of these, and therefore
rightly the first for me to bring up and move past, is that I've been reading manga. Lots of
it. To the point that I’ve had to find ways to cut myself away, and have now
resolved to only read it in traditional Japanese. Hopefully this will work as
an incentive while also freeing up a bit of time for writing. We’ll see... I know many of you won't be at all interested in manga, and that's fine. But this blog just wouldn't be mine unless I brought up my Jap fanaticism every now and then. Feel free to read as much or as little suits you.
I have to say a few words about a
few of the series that have been draining away my time. Actually, just two.
1. 20th
Century Boys by Naoki Urasawa
 |
| Here's a cover with some kids on it. One or two of them may or may not feature in the story. |
So Urasawa is a bit of a gem writer. This is the only series
I’ve read in full (because Australia’s none too kind when it comes to accessing
non-mainstream manga), but I’ve watched some of the anime of another series, Monster. Basically, he’s a genius of
cliffhangers. I’m talking the type so subtle that you don’t even realize until
you’ve turned the last page that you are absolutely dying to read the next
chapter. 20th Century Boys
begins with Kenji – the main protagonist of far more than should be possible – stuck
in a nothing job and other than small hints of bigger things to come, it reads
as very little more than colloquial and banal. This continues for several
volumes, in fact, while flashbacking to Kenji’s past in what must be the best
use of flashbacks I’ve ever seen, bar none. That being said, nothing much
happens for a fair while, or so it seems.
I must admit, when I started this series, I wasn’t convinced I’d like it. I struggled through, trying to find something to convince me to finish. There are 22 volumes in total, after all, so it’s no small task to reach the end. That is, until everything starts and you realize you’re completely addicted. I won’t say anything about the plot because it’s hard not to ramble and spoil like a madman, but (and this is completely objectively speaking, because honestly, there is no denying of this) the story, the characters, the artwork, all are damn impressive. Seriously, if you want to be convinced that quality manga exists, start with Naoki Urasawa.
2. Katekyo Hitman
Reborn! by Akira Amano
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| Tsuna is the one in the background. The baby Reborn is the one that looks like a baby. |
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| Yeah, I like it so much I added a second cover, what of it? And no, I don't care that Yamamoto is on |
You’d be right to say it is a bit of a weird concept. Some would even say that it's, perhaps, crap? and some would say it’s a twist on the classic shounen formula (think Dragon Ball Z) just
for the sake of a twist, but what makes this so fantastic is that it’s
seriously, ridiculously funny. It also manages to simultaneously be
out-of-this-world adorable while blowing my mind with just how awesome the fight
scenes will later become.
My favourite manga/anime of all time is Bleach by Tite Kubo. That’s a contentious title as favourite, to be sure, but there’s something about it that I just can’t get over. Not since the first time reading Bleach have I been so excited by a series, not even of any other format. I never thought I’d actually have to question whether Bleach was still my favourite or not.
My favourite manga/anime of all time is Bleach by Tite Kubo. That’s a contentious title as favourite, to be sure, but there’s something about it that I just can’t get over. Not since the first time reading Bleach have I been so excited by a series, not even of any other format. I never thought I’d actually have to question whether Bleach was still my favourite or not.
And almost singularly because of Reborn! (the exclamation
mark is actually in the title, don’t knock it) I’ve decided to stop reading
manga in English. I know if I continue on I won’t get anything done for at
least a year and a half. Clearly, that isn’t the best option for me right now.
Now, I still feel bad that I have
neglected my extensive and dedicated fanbase over the last two weeks. Hopefully we can find a way to
push forward to the new world. In the meantime, one more wonder from the land
of rising suns and maid cafés. I think it captures a little bit of a universal truth which only a miraculous treat can bring out in all of us.
If you haven't had this experience before I fear you haven't been eating pocky correctly.
Cheers,
John "the loafer" Back
Saturday 30 June 2012
Hey everyone,
This isn't a proper post or anything, but I happened to see Adam Hills' show 'Inflatable' on iView this afternoon. It's not a new show: from what I know it toured way back in like 2009 or something, but it's well worth the travel back in time. Regardless of whether you think he is funny or not (I happen to be lucky enough to find his sense of humour absolutely top-notch in a very relatable and colloquial way - which, ya know, is a pretty good thing), the point of this show, or at least the meaning for the title of show, is such a beautiful and endearing concept that I'd highly recommend finding time for it.
Here's a link for anyone interested (which should be all of you):
http://www.abc.net.au/iview/#/view/884148
And while I'm at it, I think people need to recognise this guy for who he is. He's basically the nicest comedian in the world (NOTE: Have not done nearly enough research for this opinion to be validated. Should probably not be trusted) and I really think he does fantastic things not just for entertainment, but for Australia and of course for the disabled. What a role model for everyone. If you're wild enough in spirit, go just a bit nuts and give this guy a round of applause. Right now, no matter where you are! And don't explain what you're applauding for to anyone, not under any circumstances. Okay, now we're getting ridiculous again. Seriously, though, if you have time, check out 'Inflatable'. I really hope people can get as much out of it as I did.
This isn't a proper post or anything, but I happened to see Adam Hills' show 'Inflatable' on iView this afternoon. It's not a new show: from what I know it toured way back in like 2009 or something, but it's well worth the travel back in time. Regardless of whether you think he is funny or not (I happen to be lucky enough to find his sense of humour absolutely top-notch in a very relatable and colloquial way - which, ya know, is a pretty good thing), the point of this show, or at least the meaning for the title of show, is such a beautiful and endearing concept that I'd highly recommend finding time for it.
Here's a link for anyone interested (which should be all of you):
http://www.abc.net.au/iview/#/view/884148
And while I'm at it, I think people need to recognise this guy for who he is. He's basically the nicest comedian in the world (NOTE: Have not done nearly enough research for this opinion to be validated. Should probably not be trusted) and I really think he does fantastic things not just for entertainment, but for Australia and of course for the disabled. What a role model for everyone. If you're wild enough in spirit, go just a bit nuts and give this guy a round of applause. Right now, no matter where you are! And don't explain what you're applauding for to anyone, not under any circumstances. Okay, now we're getting ridiculous again. Seriously, though, if you have time, check out 'Inflatable'. I really hope people can get as much out of it as I did.
Saturday 23 June 2012
After the failure of the previous post in explaining my
purpose for this blog, I thought it best to just get things under way and let
things happen as they will. This is perhaps good practice for life as well, if
you are that kind of person.
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| If this does not warm your heart, I sincerely hope I don't know you personally (Courtesy: garryknight) |
And this is where I began to think, for before now was
simply ‘left foot, right foot, birdie, car, tree, tree’. These newfound thoughts were
about silence.
It tells us a lot more than you'd think that it could. For instance, I knew from the kind of silence
between these two that they had been together for years. Twenty, I guessed, if
not more. That’s quite specific for what was in practical terms nothingness,
but amazingly enough I am certain I was right. And there’s a certain pride they
wore which comes from that bond, which I think when we’re serious we can all
agree we long for.
There seems to be this impression that ‘silence is longing’
and all we can do is dream of the other life which for whatever reason we didn't quite get, but I don’t believe in such bitter things or anything
quite so macabre. Not about this. Instead, I think we’re all in want of some
kind of peace. Peace like enlightenment, except instead of knowing heaps or
whatever we’re content to simply sit and breathe the air that we’re in. I know
it sounds like crap and I’m generalising like a madman (READ: politician/artist/anything
remotely religious) but why else do we grow old and quieter, instead of the
opposite way around? Is it that we grow tired from the constant youthful bustle
of noise and brazen excitement, or is just that we only later in life find ourselves
comfortable waiting, thinking, praying, being?
I grew up on a farm, so maybe my ideas are purely my own stemming from all of my country town-ish experiences,
and perhaps I’m overstretching by a long shot in assuming anyone else at all
has these wildest of conceptions, too. Still, for all the rushes of the city,
the activity and passion (which I love, to be clear), surely eventually things
have to wind down when we bring ourselves to calm.
It’s something that I think the Japanese do really well, in allowing themselves to be quiet for the right amounts of time (although if you’re
looking for proof of this, don’t go to anime or manga. But do go to them if you’re
cool and want something awesome to read. Just saying). Here is a picture that I
took of a man in Yoyogi-koen (ie. a park just outside Shibuya in Tokyo):
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| I took this photo, that's right. Now where's my award? |
It’s a tradition on Sundays for buskers to come out to Yoyogi-koen and play their songs and do little performances for everyone to see. Nobody really loiters anywhere (at least not when I was there), but people move through
the park doing mostly their own thing, and you’ll see dancers and actors
rehearsing and whatnot. Very cool stuff. As you can see, it was winter then, so
there isn’t a lot of colour (although that, for me, made it even more thoughtful
and emotive), but here we see a man playing his drums in the middle of the
park. All alone, with not a single person watching. Well, except the strange
white tourists with the rudely loud cameras...
There’s a concept called mono
no aware, which I suppose I’d describe as a wistful or somewhat gentle
sadness for the inevitability of passing time and having lost things with it.
It’s not an idea exclusive to the Japanese. Historically, I don’t even think
they were the first to devise it (far from it, based on what I know). The
reason I stick with mono no aware
(which using my fairly basic Japanese vocabulary, translates roughly to “the
sadness of things”) is because of the slightest essence of optimism that they
seem to have attached to it. Much like the Japanese culture in itself, I get
this sense of sentimentality in such a perfectly, richly and studiously sliced
amount, where it blends itself so well with the existence of life, of emotions
and consciousness.
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| Death looks sure pretty for flowers (Courtesy: monkist) |
So what a blessing it would be, to have found someone who
joins you in that moment. Silent, connected by a wordless foundation of trust
and happily consenting dependence, almost as if they need never speak again. So
yeah, I saw an old couple yesterday. It was kind of cool. Kudos to them and all
that they meant for me.
P.S. This post was NOT just an excuse for me to post
pictures of pretty Japanese gardens or adorable old couples. It was NOT!
P.P.S. A much more visceral experience of mono no aware can be found at http://nighbluey.blogspot.com.au/2010/02/mono-no-aware.html. Feel free to check it out.
So, let’s figure out what this place is and what you guys (the
non-gender-specific version of ‘guys’, whereby I am not actually implying
anything other than that you are people and at least occasional readers making
you immediately closer to my own heart, and therefore making this a simple expression
of kinship or some such casual concept. So don’t get all offended if you’re the
feminist type) should expect to see. Firstly, as we can see, there will be the
occasional rant. Don’t take these too seriously, unless you think there is in
fact some validity to what has been said, in which case take up arms with
brevity and passion and post a comment or something.
I think also there will be stories, creative things that
come in the night like a unique stench or a haunting tapping noise. Perhaps not
quite so affective as this, but certainly the idea will be that I will share
with you the stories I’ve had on my mind, whether this is via short story, poem
or whatever.
Another will be recommendations. Things I think are special,
or interesting, or valuable. This includes authors and books. A few other writers
have been talking about this really neat idea, which is so, so simple but
apparently unthought of. It can basically be summed up as “if you read
something and you like it, share it.” People have been doing this for years
through borrowing books to friends and talking rabidly about the characters or
twists. Why then, do we see so little of this on the great social medias? Writers need help wherever they can get it from whoever
will give it, so please, be impelled by the quality of what you read to tell
people about it.
Here's my book for today:
By Australian fantasy writer Margo Lanagan, Tender Morsels is dark, twisted and really quite cruel a time for its characters. A fairy tale at heart (anyone who has read the Grimm’s Snow White and Rose Red will see the strong connections at work) with the bitterness of the postmodern age and the sweetness of true magical fantasy. It may be tough, but the author, bless her soul, isn’t unforgiving. Certainly, there is plenty here to be made awkward or confronted by. Beginning with a rape scene that slams you like a falling house, the narrative of Tender Morsels stems off casual violence and bestial tendencies (in the most poetic ways, of course) before stepping so effortlessly into times so sweet, so touching and enduringly non-bitter that there is a fantastic scope of emotional variety. I’d recommend Tender Morsels to the strong-hearted who through it all still love to feel sometimes.
This is longer a review than you need to do. Even a “Have
you read this book? It’s really great!” will be such wonders for an industry
that’s struggling like ever. If you can find a way to pick this up, please consider it.
But back to the blog! Of course there will be more than what
I’ve mentioned already. Anyone who knows me well probably suspects that I move from
interest to interest like reading from a global phonebook taken page by page.
Expect more to come, but I’ll try to keep it contained to the interesting parts
only.
And just so you know, this was in fact me giving up on
finishing this entry because frankly, it could have gone for much, much longer
and was already probably longer than even medically advisable. That’s probably
a good warning for you of the way things will go.
Thursday 21 June 2012
Welcome to the Boobahdore! I'm not sure if this greeting actually means anything yet, as I'm still not entirely sure what you're being greeted into. Hopefully nothing too detrimental to your larger lives, although if anybody asks for your credit card details at any time, you know what not to do. Otherwise, just try to have a good time. Pull up a chair, if you can find one. Someone will be along briefly to take your order... or, well, I dunno... chat or something.
Welcome!
P.S. The next post will be a proper one. If you can bear to wait that long, please hang around.
Welcome!
P.S. The next post will be a proper one. If you can bear to wait that long, please hang around.
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