My second novel THE BRINK is published tomorrow and I am so excited for it.
I had intended to write a more comprehensive blog post to herald this book’s release, but I’ve been swamped for a long time.
I was doing a podcast interview earlier today when I mentioned how I recall the specific moment my career exploded. I was standing in the art exhibition space in building 16 at Edith Cowan University’s Mount Lawley Campus in mid-2018, back when I worked there, and while setting up for the event, I glanced at my phone and saw an email from Griffith Review.
The email stated that my novella “Poster Boy” had been declared one of the five winners of the 2018 Novella Project competition, and would be published in Griffith Review #62 later that year.
I remember being numb with shock, disbelief, excitement, anticipation. It had been a long slog to get any of my work recognised. And this email came a few months after a phone call with my then-agent, who advised me that the big 5 publishers in Australia had all rejected the full-length novel manuscript we were pitching to them, titled INVISIBLE BOYS.
I remember taking that phone call in March 2018, a few minutes before teaching an Academic Writing tutorial at ECU for their University Preparation Course. My heart sank through the floor. I remember saying to my agent, “So, is INVISIBLE BOYS dead in the water, or what?” And while she assured me it wasn’t, I feared my career was over before it had begun, and had to go on to cheerily teach a class about how to write an academic essay while inside I felt devastated that I would never make it as an author.
So, just a few months later, when I stood in that white-walled art exhibition space and saw the email from Griffith Review, I was ecstatic. Something was happening! Something I wrote was getting published in a really respected journal. I remember how my colleagues – Sarah, Shad and Julie – celebrated with me, supported me, and encouraged me. It was an awesome win after a long few months of failure.
When “Poster Boy” got published, I was given a few thousand dollars of prize money. It was the first time I’d made any real money off my writing, ever. And I remember that moment as the start of an avalanche, because a few weeks later, INVISIBLE BOYS was shortlisted for the Hungerford, and then it won, and then things went KABOOM .
I mention the mid-2018 “Poster Boy” moment because it was from that moment that my career kicked up a gear and I felt overwhelmed by it for the longest time. The world became a gigantic, non-stop hustle. The INVISIBLE BOYS tour was awesome. But it also made me dissociate the fuck out of my body almost every gig, because it was just so intense to revisit that trauma over and over.
It wasn’t until late 2021 that I started to feel like I had any level of control over my life again. I started learning how to say no to things, how to put up boundaries, how to protect and defend my writing time and my time to just be a human being. I learned how to define myself beyond being a writer. I found a lot of peace and comfort in weightlifting, and cardio, and playing social footy, and working as a labourer again.
I mention this because my headspace, now, today, the day before my second novel comes out, is so wildly different to how I felt the first time.
When INVISIBLE BOYS came out I felt like a newborn foal taking his first shaky steps only to cop a torrent of fire-hose-pressure water to the face. I felt knocked off my feet. I had only just worked out who I was, and then the whole world seemed to just COME AT ME, with its misreadings and expectations and projections. Ahh, it was amazing and horrific in equal measure.
Tonight, I am sitting at my desk with a can of bourbon, pausing for just a minute to reflect on how I feel before THE BRINK goes out into the world.
I am really happy to say that this time around, I don’t feel overwhelmed. I don’t feel like a nervous foal finding his feet in a dangerous environment.
I feel like a goddamn wild stallion.
This time around, I know who I am. I know I am not everyone’s cuppa tea and I don’t give a shit. I’ve happily set up a whole tour where I can put myself out there, show up as I really am, meet a whole heap of you guys, and then promptly retreat back to my cave to take care of myself once it’s done.
This headspace was hard-won. I pushed back against the expectation that authors, gay YA authors specifically, have some duty to be good role models (fuck that – it’s unhealthy!) and I rejected the projection of literary class that was foisted upon me in the public eye by proudly accepting my status as a bogan on season seven of the ABC’s TV show YOU CAN’T ASK THAT (I’m not kidding – the moment that episode aired I felt this bulk sense of relief that I didn’t have to pretend to be anything other than a Gero dero anymore).
I really can’t overstate how much these moves have made a difference to how settled I feel.
I don’t feel any pressure to be perfect or well-behaved or anybody’s role model.
I don’t feel the weight of being an award-winning literary author.
I feel more comfortable showing up as myself now. The good parts and the bad.
It makes the eve of a new book release far less daunting than last time. Instead of this sense of dread and terror, I feel excited.
I have written a book I am proud of. It is, as John Mellencamp would say, the best that I could do. It is a book about self-discovery and self-love. It is about wrestling your own identity back from who the world wants and expects you to be – something I have spent the past few years trying to do. It is, I hope, an ode to self-empowerment and finding a way to be yourself, even if the climate around you has always made you feel like shit. It is about Leonardo, the shy, terrified boy who wants to be tough; and Kaiya, the high-achiever who wants to be bad; and Mason, the footy jock who wants to be with his best mate, Jared. It is about burning your fake persona down to find who you really are – who you really wanna be.
It’s also a kickarse thriller (well, I reckon it is). I hope youse like it.
With all the edits to THE BRINK obviously now completed, and my third book draft completed and sent off to my agent and publisher earlier today, I am finally able to get back to blogging and sharing more writing and reflections with you guys again – just in time for my tour.
The first time it happened was two weeks into my book tour.
At the end of my author talk at a library in Perth, a well-intentioned (and very nice) audience member asked a question that got under my skin.
She asked how I felt about becoming a role model.
I was immediately horrified by this question, and I told her so. I explained that being held up as a paragon of anything was anathema to me, and I wasn’t interested in that kind of public role.
But, she insisted, my example would be of interest to gay people, to young men, to people in general. She had just heard me talk about sexuality and shame, masculinity and identity, mental health and self-care. She thought these were important conversations.
I agreed. These themes are central to my book and my work. But I didn’t want to be seen as exclusively positive and wholesome. That terrified me.
The promo cycle for the book rolled on, and the “role model” question came up again and again – and continues to.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s a super nice thing to have said to you. And I learned to be more courteous in my response. I didn’t want to come across as a completely ungrateful prick. After all, not long ago a man like me would have been derided, scorned, barred from events at schools; go far back enough and I would’ve been locked up.
So, “role model” is hardly a slur. It just made me intensely uncomfortable.
Once I looked up the meaning of the term – a person who someone admires and whose behaviour they try to copy – I thought, okay, that’s not so bad. If a closeted teenage boy could look at me and see there are many different ways of being homosexual, and that gave him something tangible to shape himself in accordance with, okay, fine. If that helps someone, fine.
But the terror has never gone away, because most people don’t just want a ‘role model’.
They want a good role model.
That’s the term that makes me want to run away.
A ‘good’ person behaves well and conforms to the norms and customs of society, and, to be frank, the norms and customs of western culture in 2021 are fucking horrible.
Being a good artist, or a good gay man, in this era, carries particular behavioural expectations. I have learned this from interactions over the past few years, and even in just the past week. I am expected to speak and behave in a certain way; effuse a certain toxic positivity and purity; project my morality and politics publicly; call out and be outraged by any fellow artist or gay deemed even slightly problematic, while never being deemed problematic myself. I am tacitly expected to become an activist by default – not just in my art either, but in a vitriolic, showy way on social media.
My sense is that in 2021, to be in the public eye, to be a minority in the public eye no less, is to be held to an excessively high standard of performative virtuous behaviour, bordering on squeaky-clean, lemony-fresh perfection.
This is sick.
That pressure to be “good” for the public is deeply unhealthy. Nobody is perfect. Nobody is even that crash hot. It’s human nature to be kind of nice but also sometimes a piece of shit. To pretend otherwise feels so disingenuous. We are all made of dark and light, shadow and persona.
This is particularly true of artists. We are often damaged people. We have a tendency to be mentally ill, addicted, traumatized, sensitive, troubled. I am all of these things. Most artists and writers I know are, too, to varying degrees. This side of our selves often informs much of our art, and explains why we can be navel-gazing and temperamental at the best of times.
And the thing is, this drive for perfect behaviour sets me off because I’ve been there. I am proof of why it’s a terrible idea to pretend you are pure; when you let the persona take over and try to perform virtue for the world, in order to obtain safety, love, popularity, relevance, group acceptance, validation, or whatever it is you’re seeking.
This happened when I was a teenager. I was a big homo. I nearly killed myself because I grew up in a place, time, culture, class, religion, and family setting where homosexuality was a shameful thing. But also, I kept that stuff – what the world around me had deemed evil and sinful – hidden and private. Externally, I tried to become the paragon of a moral Catholic boy in as many ways as I could: praying to God, writing to God, studying the bible, wearing my crucifix, being straight, parroting Catholic views like they would undo what was going on in my heart.
I worked hard, and constantly, to be a performatively virtuous person. It obliterated my own sense of identity, my own humanity, and drove me to the point of suicide.
Thankfully, I didn’t kill myself. I got help from an anonymous mental health service, which saved my life.
I then wrote a book about my experiences. And the underlying message of that book was not just that it’s okay to be gay (although – spoiler alert – it is).
The point is that trying to conform to the world’s estimations of what makes a good person is an unhealthy and self-destructive endeavour. If you give yourself over to what the world thinks of you, you will lose yourself.
In the acknowledgements of my book, I wrote about my troubled teenage self; how my key lesson from having gone through a suicidal level of self-loathing is that I am good enough as I am.
It feels like a dereliction of duty for me to not, then, defend this idea in public, as well as in my art. There is a vexing misunderstanding that the thing that nearly killed me was homophobia. It wasn’t.
What nearly killed me was shame.
It was shame, thrown by others, internalised within me. Shame for being human, for being myself, for not being perfect, for being slightly bad. The world told me I was bad for being homosexual. I felt ashamed for it. The shame slowly destroyed my will to live.
Becoming painfully well-behaved, performing morality and flawlessness to please those in positions of authority, was the best thing I knew to do to survive at the time. But it made me sick, and I know it drives many to an early grave.
I have spent years clawing my way back from that teenage precipice. I have learned not to abandon myself, but to stay with myself. I have learned that all the shame an entire planet can throw at me cannot and will not divorce me from the knowledge that I am, at my core, okay.
Nowhere in that process of un-internalising that shame did any therapist suggest I start throwing shame back at those who had hurt me. Why would I hurt people the way I’d been hurt?
When I came out in 2008, Western culture seemed to be moving towards becoming less judgmental, less shaming, more tolerant of difference. A world more interested in living and letting live.
That idea feels laughable in 2021. Nature abhors a vacuum, and the human need to shame and punish one another supersedes any dogmatic Abrahamic religion. We currently live in a culture of permanent outrage: those we disagree with are not humans to be tolerated, but enemies to be called out and destroyed. We are not encouraged to be kind.
The crux is: my sense is that to be seen as a role model in this era would be to support and reify shame. I would be buying into a reductive, unkind system that is quite as crushingly inhumane and airless as the deeply moralistic one that almost killed me. I know how destructive that is. I know how many people take their lives because of shame. Everyone carries their own burden, often in silence. Throwing shame is destructive; internalising that shame can be fatal.
So, I won’t do it.
Trying to mould myself into who I think people want me to be would be unhealthy. My career might gain more relevance if I started ranting about sociopolitical minutiae on Twitter, but the gratification of those retweets would be cold comfort for my impaired wellbeing.
This culture has plenty of artist-activists. I don’t want to be one of them. Just “artist” is cool with me.
And I can make my peace with being a role model if that helps someone, but I would very much like to not be a good one.
I think I now understand why that original question bugged me so much. It’s not that I’m ungrateful; I just don’t want to be misread. Not after having gone through some dark shit on my way to get where I am. I feel that misrepresentation would wreck me.
So, if, as my career grows, I’m going to be held up as an example of something, let it not be model behaviour.
I’d rather be an example of being flawed; of being an imperfect person in an imperfect world; of cutting yourself some slack; of being allowed to be a bloody human being.
In a culture addicted to toxic perfection, and an era so unforgiving toward human nature, I don’t believe it’s just okay for artists to show these flaws. I reckon it’s vital.
We’re all familiar enough with why 2020 was a giant tyre fire. Thankfully, it looks like the tide is turning. 2021 will hopefully (*touches wood repeatedly*) be a better year.
Every December, I reflect on the past year and plan for the one ahead. When I made my 2020 goals, I had no idea what was about to unfold. Consequently, many of my goals – like everyone’s – went to hell.
Weirdly, my career thrived in 2020. I don’t take that for granted. Invisible Boys landed a slew of accolades, culminating in winning the WA Premier’s Prize for an Emerging Writer in August. I also signed with a new agent for my next books, and sold the film and TV rights for Invisible Boys, which is now in development as a ten-episode TV series. This stuff was fucken awesome, especially against the backdrop of a heinous year.
That said, despite the luminosity of career highlights, this year was a bit of an annus horribilis for me personally. I started the year with an injury, dislocating my shoulder for a second time, which derailed my health and fitness for months. The gym and footy do a lot to keep my head above water, and losing both was a major struggle. After that was a two-month lockdown, financial strife as my income dried up for the year, the death of a family member, a car accident that injured my back, a house flood and insurance battles, then a very public legal quagmire. From January through to December, my mental health was the worst it’s been in ages. This stuff was fucken terrible, especially against the backdrop of a heinous year.
The mix of light and dark in 2020 was starker than in most years, and there was a chasm between people’s perceptions of how good my life must be and how shit I actually felt. But upon reflection after a strange year, I have my health, I have my husband, I have a career I love, and I live in a relatively safe part of the world. I am lucky.
And despite a year of thwarted dreams for many, people across the globe are arming themselves with the usual December hope that next year will be better. I share this hope. Setting goals helps me take stock of how far I’ve come and refocus my energies. Looking back and looking forward is how I stay motivated.
So, I set 10 goals for 2020, split between writing goals and personal life goals.
Here’s how I went:
2020 WRITING GOALS
1. Sign a contract for Book 2 and do edits for that.
Well, this didn’t happen. My first agent left the publishing business, and so I signed with a new agent mid-year: the brilliant Gaby Naher of Left Bank Literary. Gaby requested edits to the manuscript, and this led to an extensive rewrite. Technically, I did sign a contract with my agent for Book 2, and I did do edits for it. But the goal was to sign a contract with a publisher, which hasn’t yet happened. Book 2 will be pitched to publishers in 2021.
Result: FAIL (but PROGRESS).
2. Promote IB until it has been flogged to death (NB: may have already happened).
I reckon I did what I set out to do here. Despite the pandemic leading to the cancellation of loads of gigs, including events and festivals over east, I still landed a bunch of gigs, many of them online, to sustain myself and promote the book. There was loads of media to promote the book and heaps of good word of mouth. I worked hard on this one, and I achieved my goal.
3. Get 1 piece of short fiction & 1 piece of journalism published.
My short story “Irreversible” was published in a special edition of Westerly in February 2020, so I got the first part done. However, the journalistic piece eluded me. I did have an offer of a commissioned piece mid-year, but I had to turn it down as the deadline was impossible given what I was juggling at the time. I enjoy writing articles, though, so I’ll keep this on the backburner for the future.
Result: HALF SUCCESS, HALF FAIL (note to self: don’t put two different goals in one next time).
4. Start work on Book 3.
This is one goal the pandemic actually made easier. I didn’t just start Book 3 – I wrote the whole thing in five weeks while we were in lockdown in April-May. I have hardly glanced at this manuscript since I finished it and I feel I’ve really benefited from staying away from reading it for more than six months. I’ll have a fresh perspective when I dive into rereading and editing it in 2021.
5. Super Secret Project X!!!
This referred to the adaptation of Invisible Boys as a film or TV series, which I was having conversations about last December but hadn’t yet signed a deal. In August, we announced these rights were optioned by Nick Verso and Tania Chambers, and earlier this month, we received development funding from Screenwest. I am so stoked the TV series is going into development in 2021 and can’t wait to see how it unfolds.
2020 LIFE GOALS
6. Maintain average 5 workouts per week (weightlifting and cardio).
Somehow, I actually managed this. For most of the year it was 6 days per week, helped by the fact that footy counts as cardio. There were some crap weeks where I only exercised two or three times, but overall I maintained a steady level of regular near-daily fitness this year and I’m proud of that. I want to keep going with this into 2021.
7. Shred up & reach goal weight of 73 kg by 30 June 2020.
Not sure whether to laugh or cry at this one. I weighed 86 kg when I made this goal. Despite exercising like a muthafucka all year, I also started comfort eating and drinking bulk alcohol during lockdown. By July, I was 87 kg – even heavier than December. I got my shit together in October, gained some muscle and lost some fat, and consequently weighed in at 83 kg last week. Considering the year I had, this is good progress, but still a far cry from my ambitions of major shreddage.
Result: EPIC FAIL.
8. Get tattoos – July 2020. 😊
This goal is also in tatters. The plan was get ripped, then get inked. I haven’t achieved the first so the second hasn’t followed. Bum-bow. I know I can get tattoos whatever my body shape, but my vain heart wants what it wants.
9. Train harder at footy, get less shit & play at least 1 whole AFL 9s season with the Hornets.
Despite my injuries, I trained harder at footy than in 2019. I played a whole season of AFL 9s with the Hornets, save for a couple of games when I had work. And I ultimately got a bit less shit: I am still not a stellar footy player, but I’m better than I was twelve months ago. I can only try to keep improving and hopefully, over time, become a more useful and competitive player.
10. Do 1 whole term of guitar lessons (10 weeks).
Okay, this one completely fell by the wayside. I was too busy to dedicate time to this every week for a whole school term. I do still really want to learn guitar, though.
Ultimately, I succeeded at about half my goals and failed at the remaining half. That’s a pass mark overall, right?
I am not fazed by the failures. Every year, I set goals knowing I will achieve some and fall short of others. This is the nature of goal setting and life. It doesn’t stop me enjoying the process of aiming high and it helps me work out which goals I don’t feel passionate about and which I really want to work harder at next time.
2020 hampered a lot of my goals, so my list for 2021 looks very similar, with some minor tweaks:
GOALS FOR 2021
1. Sign a publishing contract for Book 2 and do further edits on it.
2. Complete the second draft of Book 3.
3. Progress the TV Series adaptation of Invisible Boys.
4. Get 1 piece of short fiction OR journalism commissioned, contracted or published.
5. Maintain an average of 5 workouts per week (between weightlifting, footy and cardio).
6. Get nutrition sorted to shred up and reach goal weight of 75 kg by 30 June 2021.
7. Get first tattoos in 2021.
8. Train harder at footy and grow more confident and useful to the team in games.
9. Do at least one guitar lesson.
10. Do some fun shit for pure enjoyment.
When I look at these goals, I feel strongly about making them all a reality. I’ll do my level best. I love having goals to chase and I can’t wait to get started on all of these.
What are your goals for 2021? Are they focused mostly on career, or on life, or a mix of both?
The other day, I was asked a question that stumped me.
I was doing a talk at a high school, and a year 9 boy asked me if, given how much I suffered, would I change anything about my younger years?
I did the standard public speaker response when you are asked a question you have no idea how to answer: “Wow, that’s a really great question. Thank you so much for asking it.”
Depending on how slowly you utter this, and how strategically you structure your pauses, you can draw this out for five to ten seconds – enough time to throw together a response.
But even after those few seconds of scrambling, I still didn’t have an answer.
I ended up thinking out loud with the audience to meander my way to a quick response – that I probably wouldn’t change things – but I didn’t have space to explain why.
Growing up homosexual in the broad circumstances I did – a country town, blue collar, Sicilian-Australian, Roman Catholic environment – gave me certain messages about being gay. It was effete; unmasculine; it made me a faggot or a finocchio; it made me evil and sick. Bad bad bad.
But these external messages, in isolation, are not what fucked me up.
What fucked me up was my response to those circumstances. Being gay in that world seemed like it would annihilate me and everything I was supposed to be. So, for years, I fought it, denied it, deleted it. I perceived it as a mortal sin; prayed to God to fix me; dug out my baptismal crucifix and wore it like a talisman; studied the Bible hoping to drive the devil out of me. This led to that spiral down into depression, self-loathing, and eventually the suicidal ideation I wrote about in Invisible Boys.
So yes, the world was hostile to my existence. But I was more hostile to myself than the world was.
I know sixteen-year-old me only did what he did to try to survive. I probably wouldn’t have done it if my external environment told me it was okay to be gay; that I was good enough just as I was.
But I don’t sit down with my therapist to unpack the world and its fuckery. Sure, I could blame the world, but what a waste of time. I can’t change society any more than I can solve suffering on a global scale. Both would be Sisyphean to attempt, and nobody will ever succeed at either.
I do sit down to work with my therapist around how I treat myself, and that is where my recovery process begins and ends: with me, on the micro level. Those microcosmic changes are what ripple out to influence the macrocosm, but I can’t start with the world. I must start with me.
I have spent a long time recovering from how cruel I was to myself. My self-loathing runs deep, and even now, on a bad day, I can be right back there in that dark well in a split second. I have a track record of treating myself worse than I would ever consider treating another human being: with revulsion and disgust and utter contempt. I can turn on myself very quickly.
It might seem logical, then, that if given the chance, I would change this.
But being cruel to myself in my younger years made me more resilient in the long run.
For instance, sometimes I meet someone new who seeks to insult me, denigrate me, humiliate me, embarrass me, or reduce me. This is less common than when I was younger, when I had no discernment and would hang around people who made a sport of ridiculing me, but it still happens.
When I was younger, I listened to anyone who insulted me. I tried to make them like me. I tried to embody the characteristics they admired and squash out the traits they derided. I laughed at their ridicule of me to make them tolerate my presence. I performed like this constantly and if they didn’t stop insulting me – which they didn’t – I would blame myself for not doing enough to make them like me.
I did this most of my life. I don’t do it anymore.
These days, when I encounter someone like this, I feel a bit immune to their bullshit. Like, what can they say to me that is worse than what I have said to myself? Nothing. I was the most destructive person in my life for years. So, every time someone in my life tries to have a go at me, even in subtle, passive-aggressive ways, I just think, You can’t hurt me. They can’t. They will never come close to making me feel as bad about myself as I already did.
That isn’t to say I’m impervious to being emotionally wounded. Far from it. I have a sensitive temperament. I have a propensity for listening to critical voices, either my own, those of others, or those of society, that tell me I am not okay.
But I know now that there is nothing wrong with me. The message that I am not okay at my core is what is inaccurate, always, whether it’s me or someone else saying it.
So, the moment I get a whiff that someone is going to be destructive towards me, I don’t try to please them, or get them to change. I just get the fuck out. I cut them off, stop talking to them, stop investing time in them, block and delete if it’s online. I keep their toxicity as far away from me as possible. Their voices do not bear listening to, and whatever I do hear, I don’t take on board.
But this is a response I’m not sure an otherwise serene adolescence could have manufactured. It is a resilience borne of self-acceptance overcoming self-abnegation; a powerful alkali neutralising a corrosive acid.
That is to say: I am not sure I could have ended up where I am without having gone through what I did. I don’t know if I could know self-acceptance and wholeness if I hadn’t, at one point, hated myself so much I was willing to abandon myself entirely. Living through my own personal brand of shit made me who I am.
What if I had grown up in a wealthy, inner-city, left-wing suburb, in a white-collar family, with no cultural or religious prejudices towards homosexuality? Or what if I had grown up heterosexual?
I don’t know who I’d be or what I’d be like, but I do know that guy wouldn’t be me.
And even if those facets of my life changed, I don’t think I’d be happier or unmolested by life. I would have suffered anyway. All humans suffer and our suffering shapes our lives. My suffering would have just had a different colour.
So, to answer that kid from the high school library: no, I wouldn’t change anything about my past.
The only thing I would have changed about my younger years is that I would have been kinder to myself. But I feel okay with how things played out for me. It is my past cruelty towards myself that led me to a sense of what psychologists call unconditional self-acceptance.
The arrows I slung at myself along the way were misguided, but they both toughened my hide and taught me to put down the bow.
About three years ago, during a time of massive failure, I went back to my uni to visit my writing lecturer.
At the time – early 2017 – I had both lost my full-time job and had to abandon my failure of a fantasy novel. From every angle, I felt like a loser. I wanted my lecturer’s advice, and comfort, and to try to recapture that student feeling that dreams could come true.
As I told my lecturer about my book’s inability to interest agents, and how I realised my novel wasn’t good enough, I tried to find a way to fan the flames in my chest into words.
“I’m going to make it,” I told her, resolutely.
“I know you will,” she replied.
No, she wasn’t getting it, I thought. I wasn’t just some writing student who sort of wanted to get published. This wasn’t just a career that I may or may not proceed with. This was my life. This was almost the only thing in the whole world that I cared about. This was the only way I made sense as a fully-rounded human.
“I mean I won’t stop until I make it,” I elaborated. “No matter what. Even if I have to write a whole new book, even if I have to self-publish first before I can get a traditional publishing deal, even if it takes me years and years, the rest of my life, I will get there.”
“I believe you,” she said, with an ‘ease up, turbo, or I’ll press the duress button’ kind of look.
I remember that day, and that era, as the point where I kicked my ambition up a notch.
Ambition had always been the undercurrent of my personality, since the age of seven, when I first knew I wanted to be a writer. I am not ashamed of my ambitious nature. I am proud of it, actually. It would have been easy to give up on this dream at an early age. A boy from a blue-collar background in a country town doesn’t have the most inspiring pedigree for a literary career. In order to become a bona fide published novelist, I had to reach beyond my station in life, defy expectations and obstacles, and keep going in the face of many years of scorn, disinterest, rejection and abject failure.
Ambition – that craving to get the thing I wanted – is what pushed me to persevere and rise above all of that. I believed – and still believe – that if you want something dearly, and work hard for it, you can eventually achieve it. I am living proof of this approach.
But at that particular time, I knew standard ambition wasn’t enough. I had to move to a total war, scorched earth approach to achieving my dreams.
So I did.
I doubled down on my ambition. This was the only way I could pick myself up from what is probably the nadir of my career so far; if I did not fight back and push on twice as hard, I would have crumpled.
This blind ambition moved me through a hard time, and made me achieve a lot. It made me dig deep and write about something real: my novel Invisible Boys was born from this process and was written in the winter of 2017.
Moreover, my blind ambition spurred me on to do more than just write. It made me get on social media and work hard at building a platform. It made me cut way back on socialising and prioritise the hustle. It made me treat my day jobs as secondary, so I was author first, worker second. It made me quit smoking, take up exercise, eat better, lose weight, push myself out of my comfort zone. It helped me get what I want and it made me increasingly happy.
As my dreams began to come to fruition, winning awards and landing a publishing contract, I started to think about where I was going.
In 2018, I wondered how I would measure success, and the best metric I had was unemployment. That is, the day I can quit my job and live off my writing full-time, I would have made it.
In both of these reflections, my only metrics for success were the continued pursuit of my dreams. On one level, I don’t really have a problem with this. In 2018, I wrote how a quote from Paulo Coelho’s masterpiece, The Alchemist, sums up my approach to life:
“No heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second’s encounter with God and with eternity.”
In other words, if you spend your whole life trying to become a successful writer, but never achieve fame and fortune, you’ll still have a happy heart and a fucking awesome life, because you spent all your time doing what makes you joyous: writing.
The paragraph above is ripped word-for-word from my 2018 post, and still sums up how I feel. So, I guess I’m still blindly ambitious, although perhaps I’m using that term too liberally. Some people would interpret blind ambition as compromising your values to get what you want, stabbing people in the back and walking over their corpses to climb a career ladder, shouting “don’t you know who I am?” – that kind of shit. I haven’t done that, ever. (Well, okay, I have said the last one, but only as a joke, I swear!)
And while I’ll continue to be ambitious, something cropped up recently that made me think more deeply about what I want.
It started when I interviewed Natasha Lester at Perth Festival in February, and she talked about becoming a New York Times bestselling author. When her publicist said, “you can check that off your bucket list”, Natasha replied that she had never had it on there in the first place. (In a bit of a boss move, however, she did then jot it down and cross it off, just so she could say she had – ha!)
That interview drew my attention to the idea of a bucket list – the list of things you want to do before you die. Then, a few months later, I was filling out a player profile for my AFL 9s team, The Perth Hornets – a social media “get to know your player” thing. One of the questions was “what’s your top bucket list item?”
Well, I don’t have a bucket list, I thought. I just want to make a living from writing.
But that goal begged a question: before I die, how do I want to live? What would I actually do with that full-time writer living if I achieved it?
My worker bee response to this was this: keep writing.
And this is where I discovered the downside of blind ambition. For all the success this approach has yielded, it has also left me stunted in my focus. I am a blinkered thoroughbred horse and I cannot see anything but the finish line of this enormous race I trained myself for.
On my player profile, I wrote my top bucket list item as:
“Owning some rural land with my dream ute and dirt bike – that’s it!”
Not super exciting, but it was my first, unfettered response, so I wrote it and moved on with my day.
But then a couple of things happened that brought my own mortality sharply into focus.
Firstly, my uncle died, far too young. He was a good man, and I care deeply about him and his family. I returned home to see my relatives, and attend his funeral. I delivered the eulogy, and as I rehearsed it, I was struck by how contented my uncle was with his life. Not only was he a kind, gentle and good-natured man – he was content. He worked hard as a bricklayer to provide for his family, but also to provide for himself. He enjoyed his life. He was at his happiest sitting on the balcony of the dream house he built for himself and his family, having his morning coffee and overlooking the spectacular cobalt blue of the Indian Ocean.
The second thing that happened was that I was in a car accident a few days ago.
It was, thankfully, not fatal. My car was stationary at the back of a long line of traffic on the freeway at peak hour, and the car behind me just didn’t stop – he ploughed directly into my Commodore and smashed it beyond repair – it’s a write-off. I was in shock and apparently responding quite slowly to paramedics and had back pain and whiplash, so I was taken to hospital by ambulance and wasn’t allowed to move my head or neck or spine for hours until they had done scans.
According to the X-rays, nothing was broken. I was released to go home and heal my back – which would be sore and stiff for a while, they said – and to take care of myself mentally and emotionally – which is expected to take longer. But all things considered, I appear to be okay. Hopefully there won’t be any long term impacts.
When we left the hospital, my husband (author Raphael Farmer) asked me if I’d had any revelations. Had the accident made me see life differently? I was alive, but that was pure luck: if the other car had been going faster, that might have been the end of me.
When I imagine my death, I see myself very old and grey, in bed with Raphael, and we both die in our sleep at the same time, peacefully and never having to mourn the other. This is what I hope for. But that night, had things gone worse, my death might have been in the twisted metal of a Holden Commodore on my way home from having San Churros with a mate, my last thought about how frustrating peak-hour traffic is on the Mitchell Freeway.
To say this was merely sobering is the same as saying 2020 has been just been a little challenging.
I told Raphael that no, I hadn’t had any great shake-up in terms of my life direction. Laying on that stretcher, I realised I am already living the life I want, which is reassuring. I have a husband I love, and who loves me; I have a fulfilling career as a writer; I have hobbies and pastimes and sports I enjoy and family and mates whose company I value.
Unexpectedly, the first thing I said to my husband was about a material desire: “I’m going to finally buy my ute.”
Maybe it’s dumb, but because I don’t come from money, and writing is rarely lucrative, I always knew I could have either the dream or the material possessions, but not both.
Blind ambition meant it was an easy sacrifice to make: the dream comes first.
But there are consequences to this way of living. I don’t spend money on my house: I live in a cheap rental in a cheap suburb and I don’t remember the last time I bought any furniture for it. I don’t spend money on my car: I drive (or drove) a cheap sixteen-year-old sedan. I don’t spend money on anything: for years, I haven’t replaced our broken washing machine, or our broken second-hand mattress that hurts our backs every night, or my ancient laptop which is so painfully slow I want to scream and throw it against the wall every time I use it. And so on, and so forth.
It always seemed like a worthwhile trade. Short-term pain for long-term gain. To some extent, it has made my achievements as a writer possible, so I don’t regret that.
But what if achieving a sustainable career as a writer takes another five, ten, twenty years? Would it be worth living a hindered, shitty quality of life for that long if it meant getting more novels published?
Before my uncle passed away, and before my car accident, I would have said yes.
Now, my answer is no.
I’ve been thinking more about how I want to live. Not my goals, but how I spend my day to day life.
So this is what I want, long term. I want to live with my husband on a bit of land – a good few acres, somewhere semi-rural, but close enough to the amenities of the city, where I can write from a writing den in my house and travel to the city/further afield for appearances and gigs. On said land, I’d like to have a dirt bike to ride around on, and I’d love to have my dream ute (a Holden SSV or Maloo).
That’s my bucket list. Everything else is gravy.
The house and land will take time to achieve – and the dirt bike is an extravagant toy.
But since I need a new car now anyway – dammit, I’m gonna get a ute. I’ve wanted once since 2007. It’s unrelated to any sense of achievement. It doesn’t help my career. I just want it for me. I’ve been busting my arse working since I was seven. I think it’s time I got something nice for myself.
I’m gonna find a way to get a new mattress, and washing machine, and laptop, too. Chasing dreams is not pleasurable if I’m running the whole way with holes in my shoes.
I will always be ambitious and hardworking, but the time for unadulterated, blind ambition is, for me, over.
I’ve always been a country boy who wants far more from life than he was ever poised to inherit organically. I still want to achieve big things before I die. I still want to scale this mountain.
But now I’m looking forward to seeing, feeling and enjoying the climb, too.
There was no way I was going to miss posting a reflective message about the end of a whole goddamn decade. 🥳🥳
I chose these two photos to juxtapose because they exhibit the positive change a decade has wrought on me. 😁😁
The biggest change is not on the outside, but within.
The 2009 me on the left is smiling, but he has no confidence, no self-esteem and loathes himself most days. He thinks he’s not good enough. He cares what others think so much that he lets their opinions shadow, plague and dictate his own self-talk, words, and life. 😔😔
The 2019 me on the right looks a bit aggro, but he is confident, assertive and likes the bloke he’s become. He knows he is good enough just as he is. He is the captain and master of his own self-talk, words and life: he is his own. He also looks really fucken buff here. 💪💪
What a metamorphic, Saturn-Returny decade it’s been. 🤩🤩
And hell, what a wild year 2019 has been – marrying my beautiful husband Raphael Farmer and my debut novel, Invisible Boys, being released were the highlights. 😍😍 Thanx heaps to each of you for being a part of this massive year. Your messages, reviews and photos this past few months have made my heart incredibly full. Thanx for supporting (and sometimes tolerating) me, my book, my writing, my penchant for talking about my dick, my entirely healthy obsession with Alanis Morissette, my Witcher song singing, my runaway ego and my neuroses, and my shameless shirtless gym selfies. 😜😜😅😅
And here’s to the Roaring Twenties 2: Electric Boogaloo. Although sequels are usually worse, let us embrace the next decade with the same foolish optimism that I embraced Jumanji: The Next Level. It could be awesome, who knows? We should experience it first and decide later, right? 🤷♂️🤷♂️
May this new year and decade bring you each growth, comfort, strength, opportunity, fucktons of fun, challenges, solutions, liberation, balance, and most of all, the doggedness and determination needed to build and live whatever kind of life you want. It’s yours and we don’t live on this planet for very long, so go on and do what you want before it’s too late. 🤘🤘🤘
So, this weekend, a bookseller from Dymocks Busselton sent me a photo of two chefs on stilts reading my novel at the Manjimup Cherry Harmony Festival.
I cracked up laughing, because I had no context for this image and it seemed like the most random thing I’ve come across in this book’s promo cycle so far. (Sidebar: the bookseller has since told me there was absolutely no context for this photo, she just took it because she thought it would be a cool pic – so that’s even funnier to me.)
Anyway, yesterday, for some reason, this image stirred up an idea. I remembered how one reviewer had mentioned the role food plays in the book. I also hadn’t written anything creatively for three months, since I’ve been so hectic with touring and promo. Apparently a day and a half was enough rest time to have recharged my creative batteries a little: I was eager to write something creative and fun, and I churned this piece out: a menu based on the culinary dishes that feature in the book.
If there’s anything more random than the photo of the chefs on stilts reading Invisible Boys, it’s probably this blog post. But I had fun writing it and it was a great way to reflect on my novel and also ease back into writing creatively again.
Happy reading – or bon appetit!
INVISIBLE BOYS: THE MENU
Anna Calogero’s Traditional Sicilian Potato Salad
How dare those Skips try to put mayonnaise in a goddamn potato salad? This traditional dish is the same Italian recipe handed down by the women in your family since the 1930s and it is not going to change now just because of some Aussie tart pushing her way into your family. This refreshing salad includes peas, red onions and eight litres of olive oil. A versatile dish, it will simultaneously please the palate and, when paired with a hearty spray of Lynx Africa, can competently mask the odour of unexpected bodily fluids in the kitchen bin.
Charlie Roth’s Gummy Shark & Chips
This simple, classic Aussie favourite doesn’t need cutlery or crockery, much in the same way that you don’t need anyone else in your life because they’re all phonies anyway so fuck ‘em. Salty and satisfying, this dish is perfect for hot February nights on the Geraldton foreshore before you dip into the Indian Ocean for a swim, or lurk by the wharf to cruise men for anonymous sex.
Natalie Wright’s Tiramisu
So your Italian mother-in-law hates you, but that’s no reason to stop trying to change her mind. Instead of bringing around your usual pavlova, spice things up by making your own version of the one dessert she prides herself on. Moist, creamy and soaked in liqueur, it definitely won’t trigger her defensive tendencies or remind her of how you’ve swanned in and usurped all influence over her son. Buon appetito!
Matt Jones’s BBQ Snags
Who says the gays need to be known for delicate baked goods and effete brunches? Be true to you and embrace your retrosexual masculinity by treating your Valentine’s Day date to a hearty slab of your meat. Best cooked with plenty of ventilation to ensure just the right amount of smoky barbequed richness. Pairs well with a Bushchook or eight. For added Northampton flair, surprise your beau with snags made of native Aussie meat and wait to see how long it takes him to notice.
Zeke Calogero’s Gnocchi in Traditional Sugo
Perhaps these potatoes wanted to end their lives rolled into lumpy gnocchi, perhaps they would have preferred to be French fries, but the existential anthropomorphism you try to project onto them doesn’t detract from how deliciously filling they are in your belly. A staple of the Sicilian peasant diet, these hearty dumplings are enriched by a homemade Italian tomato sauce: just because you can’t squeeze a drop of goddamn empathy out of your rigid Catholic parents, doesn’t mean you can’t squeeze some ripe tomatoes to form a zesty and herby condiment. Bellissimo!
Kade “Hammer” Hammersmith’s Onion Rings á la Bilby’s Burgers
Nothing says “self-sabotage” like interrupting your closely-monitored diet of protein shakes, creatine and BCAAs with a greasy post-footy feed from Bilby’s Burgers. Whether you’re dining in or sequestering a lover away in your brother’s ute, these crunchy, beer-battered onion rings are the perfect, masculine accompaniment to your 100% Aussie Beef burger from Bilby’s. Do your best not to tell your date how you wonder if your dick would fit through the middle of the onion rings. Best served with aioli, or any other salty white sauce.
(PS. Did you really think this post wouldn’t end up where it did? :P)
I wrote Invisible Boys because I wanted to show the world that boys and men suffer, and how our suffering shows up in various ways.
Sometimes our suffering makes us small and quiet and self-loathing, like Zeke.
Sometimes it makes us angry and confrontational, like Charlie.
Sometimes it just makes us seem like arrogant “dickheads”, as many people have described Hammer.
In almost all cases, however, men and boys suffer with one almost universal commonality: we usually do it in silence.
This silence is killing us. Suicide is the biggest killer of men under 40. We’re taking our own lives at a rate TRIPLE that of females, and this stat has not budged for AGES.
We don’t open up and say how we’re feeling, and I am convinced, in my bones, that if we gave ourselves permission to be vulnerable, and boldly tackle what’s going on inside, we would help ourselves to suffer less.
I believe developing the muscles required to be vulnerable makes a man more masculine, not less. The willingness to bare our souls, to face what is within us – whether virtue or demon – makes us braver and stronger and more assertive and more powerful. And yep, more manly. 💪💪
So today let’s acknowledge that the struggle is real for men and boys all across this fucked-up planet – not just gay guys, but all guys.
And in all the earnestness of this post, let’s not forget that today really ought to be a celebration of men and our awesomeness, not just a lamenting of our issues.
So here’s to all the legendary blokes out there, being heroes and lovers and fathers and sons and brothers and soldiers and healers and leaders and artists and sportsmen and dreamers. Here’s to the blokes who are tough as nails and those who are gentle as a feather. Here’s to the slack and the ambitious, the pristine and the traumatised, the stoic and the empathetic, the passionate and the larrikin.
Here’s to us men, being what proud of what we are and working hard at what we could become. 💪💪
So pumped to share the latest chapter in my author interview series, Holden’s Heroes.
This series focuses on fellow writers from my #5amwritersclub, and this month I’m stoked to be chatting to the woman who started all the #5amwritersclub craziness here in Perth. This month’s reluctant blackmailee technically consenting participant is my friend Lana Pecherczyk – an author whose work spans multiple genres, but almost always involves sexy heroes, thrilling action and kickass heroines. Lana also describes herself as a big fan of ‘pro-caffeinating’.
Let’s dive in and find out more!
Holden’s Heroes ~ August 2019
Holden: Lana Pechercyzk, welcome to my house! Don’t mind the cans of pre-mix whisky and cola all over the patio – that’s just me failing to clean up after Alicia Tuckerman came to visit. Anyway, welcome to my crib.
Lana: Thanks for having me here, Holden. And I don’t mind a bit of mess. In my opinion, it’s a sign of a creative person. Well, at least that’s what I tell my husband!
H: I’m going to start claiming this, too – although my husband is also a creative, so we’re just screwed. Now, tell me about your writing: you write both urban fantasy and paranormal romance. What is it that attracts you to these genres, both as a reader and as a writer?
L: The action, the magic, the romance. Basically, it’s those three things that you’ll find in most of my work. I’ve always been a huge fan of the paranormal, and if I have to pick a movie to watch, it’s always got to have heart pounding action and suspense. When I grew up, firstly, I didn’t have a TV for many years, so I lived through the character’s lives in books. As I got older, we had a TV, but I had to share it with five other kids. In the end, I preferred the adventures in my books.
H: I’m hearing you about the growing up with lots of other kids around – why compromise when you can have the book world all to yourself, right? Speaking of, your own book world is impressive: you’re incredibly prolific as an author – seeing how many books you’ve already published is absolutely staggering and also makes me want to weep with envy as a fellow author. What’s your secret?
L: Well, I wasn’t always a prolific writer. It took me three years to write my first book, and I redrafted it eleven times. With every book, I get faster and better. The secret is to keep going. Don’t look back. As Nora Roberts said, “You can fix anything but a blank page.” So keep writing.
H: Maybe a more pragmatic question for me to ask should be what’s your process that enables you to achieve such a great rate of output?
L: Don’t freak out and don’t read your reviews. After the first novel, I freaked out. I thought it would fly off the shelves. I thought everyone would LOVE IT! Of course, it dribbled off the shelves. I took it hard and spent the next two years not writing anything!
Then I met some amazing authors at RWA (Romance Writers of Australia) and learned that’s just the writing business. Most authors in Australia make a poor income. If I wanted to actually make more money, I had to push myself. Treat the writing as a business, and turn up Monday to Friday, nine to five. I block my writing in a schedule (I don’t always keep it, but I try) and I put that schedule up on the wall where I’ll see it daily. I also have some great friends who push me and encourage me. I think you’re familiar with the #5amwritersclub on Twitter, Holden 😉
H: I am indeed – in fact, we’re both part of the club, though let’s face it, we don’t always wake up on time. What made you join the club, and what made you stay?
L: I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but I think I was one of the first in Perth to use the hashtag (in relation to our little group).
H: I was aware you were one of the early adopters, but I didn’t know you were the one to blame for all the early starts I’ve inflicted upon myself this past 18 months, ha!
L: I was on one of my writing binges (deadline looming) and was a bit lonely that time of morning. I got up early to beat my kids before they wake for the day, used the hashtag (when I should have been writing) and Louise Allan was up and noticed. She joined in and then we found more Perthites, and more. Don’t you just love social media?
H: I remember you all ganging up on me and saying I had to join you. I have to be honest – I really didn’t want to. I felt like waking up at 5am would be hideous. But when I saw how many of you there were I was like “these could be my people”. And the desire to find my tribe was stronger than the desire to sleep in. I don’t regret this at all, now, even if I struggle to check in all the time.
L: I must admit, that lately I’ve been drowning a bit in other jobs and responsibilities, so getting to the group isn’t always easy, but that’s the great thing about the friendly group of writers… you can just drop in any time, and everyone is very welcoming. Find your tribe! And if you can’t, jump onto someone else’s. Another great hashtag on Twitter is #amwriting.
H: Finding your tribe needs to be one of the things we tell other writers more often, I reckon! Okay, let’s talk about your Paranormal Romance series, The Deadly Seven. You’ve released three books in this series already, as well as a novella. What was the inspiration for this book series, and what can readers expect next?
L: This is the first series I’ve gone, you know what? I actually LOVE superheroes, and I LOVE romance! I wish there was story behind Lois Lane and Clark Kent. You watch the movies, and you see the pivotal influence the love interest has on these heroes, but we never really give credence to it. That’s what I wanted to do. And I amplified it tenfold in TheDeadly Seven.
The inspiration for the type of heroes came from the words “deadly sin” and I just thought one day, wouldn’t it be funny if they were actually deadly? Then that sparked the entire series plot around genetically modified heroes who are created to defeat deadly sin in the crime drenched cities.
Usually I get my ideas from songs, believe it or not, so this was a bit different.
H: I really love your inspiration about them being *actually* deadly – what a cool concept. I think there’s a perception that Paranormal Romance refers solely to Twilight and vampire stories of that ilk. Have you come up against pre-conceived notions of your genre previously and how do you tackle this?
L: I have a bad habit of writing between the genres. I don’t stick solely to one, and it’s hard to market my work. But I swear I’m getting better at this with each series. I think you get these sort of confusing comments from readers when you haven’t marketed your book in the correct genre, and you haven’t managed expectations. It’s important to let readers know in the blurb, and with your cover, what story they’ll be reading. I’m very clear that my new series is a superhero romance, so that I don’t get any hardcore superhero fans reading it and complaining that there’s kissing scenes in there. Lol.
H: I’m thinking of that moment in The Princess Bride. Is this a kissing book?
L: If you do get some strange comments, then I think it’s important to take a look at your branding, and work out whether you were throwing out a mixed message. If you’re clear, then, my advice is to ignore it. Sometimes haters just gonna hate.
H: Agree. The other main genre you write in is you also write Urban Fantasy, with your The Game of Gods What’s the best part about writing fun, action-driven stories like these and how does it differ from your romance novels? Less kissing?
L: Okay, so both my series have crazy amounts of action in them. The difference with the romance ones is that they spend a little more time on the relationship. When I write and read these scenes, I feel as though I’m in the thick of the action. My brain fires better! If only I could have that amount of clarity all day.
I actually find fight scenes and love scenes don’t differ too much. When you drill down to the basic core reasons for these scenes, you find the best fight and love scenes both get your heart racing, both should only be in the story if they move the plot forward, and both have crazy amounts of tension, and both start with characters wanting two very different things. It’s just a different kind of battle *winky winky*.
H: Battle … now there’s a new euphemism for me to use for it, haha. You also have another book out called Robin Lockslay, which is described as a fun, gender-bending twist on the evergreen Robin Hood story. I’ve noticed the enormous popularity of fairytale retellings over this past decade. What’s the appeal of revisiting these very old stories and giving them a modern twist?
L: This was so much fun to write and I will get back to it. I’ve been getting rapped over the knuckles by a writer friend who’s helping me stay on one genre track. Fairytale retellings are not only a familiar story for the reader, but familiar for the writer. You’ve got a guideline to follow, and creating characters and plots completely from scratch isn’t needed. The story comes easier.
H: There’s also that concept of having an pre-prepared audience: if people like that particular fairytale, they’re more likely to pick it up, right?
L: Readers like to relive their favourite characters over and over. I think that’s the beauty of retellings. You get to do it all again, but a little bit different.
H: You’ve been incredibly prolific and are having a lot of success as an indie author. What’s it like being an indie author and how do you manage your time between creative practice and admin and marketing duties?
L: Aw thanks. I wish I was super successful money wise, but I think I’m on the right track. As long as I keep consistently putting out work, I’ll build a loyal readership. With managing my time, I’ve learned by trial and error. Always learn! Never believe you know everything. The writer that does that will be the writer to fail.
I’ve learned about my own process. I know that if I stop, get distracted, or don’t have a deadline … I just find other things to fill my time. So, I block in my writing first. Then I limit myself to only a certain amount of freelance or book cover design hours a day. Getting out of the house, and away from the internet and design computer has been the best tip I’ve received to keep my writing on track. I like to go to a cafe, sit in the same booth, put my headphones in and listen to the same piano music of pop songs, and then write. When I don’t get out of the house and go to writing “work”, I inevitably get distracted.
H: Distraction is the devil! But some distractions – like socialising with other writers – can be beneficial. You’ve previously been involved with the Romance Writers’ Association of Australia in a committee role, and recently went to their annual conference in Melbourne. Tell me, what is the importance of writing organisations like the RWA and how has being involved helped you?
L: RWA helped me find my tribe. Writing is a solitary gig. It’s lonely and also one of the industries where you really need that feedback from peers – even if it’s a friendly bit of encouragement. And writers love to talk about writing. I don’t know about you, but I find that my non-writer friends (and family) quickly became fatigued with all my writing talk when I first started.
H: Oh man, yes, this exactly. I used to talk about my writing to my non-writer mates and family and a small few of them would listen, but most would look at me like, ‘Shut up. I don’t care.’ And it’s true. They really, really don’t care and most of them don’t get why we want or need to talk about it. And yet we listen to them talk about their jobs, but hey, that’s a bitter tangent for another day, haha.
L: But your writer friends will listen to you drivel on and on FOREVER! It’s amazing.
H: Agree. Tribe stuff again.
L: When I first joined RWA, I didn’t know anyone (naturally) so I put up my hand to volunteer. It’s the best way to network, be helpful and to learn from the best. I highly recommend it. You only need to write romantic elements to become a member. You don’t have to write full on romance. The organisation is open to many people.
Plus, if you meet a group of friends, it’s a business meeting and you can claim it on tax. True story. (Insert witty reference to consulting your accountant for official advice here!)
H: Consult your accountant for accurate tax advice, please, readers! So, Lana, we’ve so far talked about your writing, but you also work as an illustrator and design your own book covers. I love your covers, not just because they feature hot guys, but because the artwork is really damn cool. Did you study drawing or is this something you’ve nurtured yourself? Do you do commissions, or just prefer to draw for yourself?
L: The hot guys really make it! Would you believe I still get embarrassed when I create them? I can’t believe I write romance sometimes! Lol.
Here’s a story for you. When I studied Fine Art and Fashion Design (these are just a few of the subjects I studied when I should have been writing), and I had a nude life drawing class, I would leave the butts for last. They had to be perfect every time! My teacher would always give me stick for it, and I never even knew I was doing that until he pointed it out in front of the whole class. “Lana, why do you save the butts for last?”
H: You have no idea how happy I am that we’ve ended up talking about butts, Lana. This is totally on-brand for me.
L: Anyway… that’s enough about butts. Yes, I studied art. I never believed I was good enough to write. That little voice inside me said I had to be a fantastic literaty (see? I don’t even know the right word there), but eventually I gave it a shot, and I discovered a huge factor in successful writing – it’s not always about the words, but the feelings.
H: Totally agree – I’m personally drawn to writing that evokes emotions effectively rather than writing that is technically beautiful and literary but doesn’t move me. Speaking of being moved by things, your bio paraphrases the English theme song of Sailor Moon, which is just awesome. Are you a big fan of Sailor Moon and has this or other anime influenced your writing?
L: Sailor Moon is my boo! She got me through the tough times of my mother and grandfather passing away when I was younger. She fights for love and justice. As a young girl growing up, I think it was important to see a good female role model. She was the kick-ass savior, not the man (Tuxedo Mask), although he does make a gratuitous appearance every episode to give her a little bit of supportive encouragement. Lol. As you can see, big Sailor Moon fan. I also loved many of the old school anime.
H: I feel you and my husband would get along well – he’s a big Sailor Moon fan. I used to dig it too, back in the day. Now, the first time we met in real life was at the West Coast Fiction Festival in November last year. What do you enjoy about days like that when you get to meet readers face to face and sign their books?
L: I love chatting to people, readers and writers. These events are great for meeting both. There’s nothing like talking to a reader who loves your book. It gives you a real boost, and sometimes, just one letter or email, can give you the fuel to write for weeks. I think these events are just as much about the readers as the writers. And I loved meeting you! You have such energy, I’m sure you’ll be the life of your book signings this year!
H: You’re too kind. *bounces off the walls* I can’t wait to have people read my book and actually tell me what they enjoyed. How about you – what’s your favourite thing that someone has said about one of your books?
L: Ooh, that’s a tough one. I love it when they say they couldn’t sleep because they had to stay up and read to find out what happened next, and next, and next! I also love it when they fall in love with my heroes. That means I’ve done my job to make them realistic and full of depth. To be honest, I love it when any reader contacts me. I’m lucky that I haven’t had the dreaded author hate mail yet, so fingers crossed I stay away from that.
H: Long may your inbox remain hater-free. So what are you working on next?
L: I’m currently working on my fourth book in my Deadly Seven series. It’s called Sloth and focuses on one of the two female heroes of the group. Being so heavily dominated by men, she’s dealing with a lot of self-pressure to perform at their level. I love to layer in real topics through my books, so it’s not all smash, grabs and stabs. And of course, being affected by the sin of sloth is another battle she has to win. I have eight books in this series planned, all about 70-80K words. Hopefully I’ll get the rest out next year.
H: I am seriously so impressed with how quickly you can write!
L: I’m also polishing a romantic comedy called Hate Expectations. It’s something I wrote a few years back when I was confused over what genre to target. Rather than letting it sit in the drawer, I’m going to get it ready to see the world. That’s the beauty of indie publishing!
H: Yes, it really is. Trad publishing is far more glacial – even once a manuscript is accepted for publication, it can be 12-24 months before it hits the shelves. Indie publishing gives you more control in that respect. Okay, we’re down to my final question: what advice would you give to new writers who are just starting on their journey?
L: Don’t read your reviews. I think I mentioned this before, but if you’re the kind of person who is affected by reviews, don’t read them. It’s an irrational thing for me. I know sometimes the review is wonderful, I still have trouble distancing myself from my story. I can’t explain it, but I know that I get massive imposter syndrome, and self doubt. So, for me, the easiest thing is to just stay away from that section of Amazon and Goodreads.
H: I’ve heard this from so many authors – to stay away from Goodreads – but I don’t think anyone has managed to do it successfully yet. Not entirely, anyway.
L: The second thing is: the minute you finish one book, write the next book. Don’t stop to market it. Do the marketing while you’re writing the next book. The longer you wait between books, the harder it is to get back into it.
Thirdly, hire an editor. If you’re just starting out, hire an editor to whip that first manuscript into shape. Every time I think I’ve written the best book, my editor will come up with ten ways to make it better (often more!) You learn better when you hae an editor, and unless you’re JK Rowling, you can always learn to be better. (Her name is Ann Harth, and she’s currently open to new business. Look her up!)
H: Solid advice – all authors need our editors to not just save our arses from rogue typos, but also craft our narratives into more compelling stories. Lana Pecherczyk, thanks for coming over to my place – it was awesome to get to know you better. Care for a drink or two?
L: Oooh, don’t mind if I do.
H: What’s your poison?
L: I’ll have the Diet Coke, thanks. And maybe a gin on the quiet, but not Coke and gin together. That’s gross.
H: I’ll keep your cheeky gin quiet. It’s just between you and me, and all the people on the Internet reading this, haha. ^_^
L: Thanks for having me, Holden. I love your work and enthusiasm. I think you’ll do amazing things with that attitude and I wish you all the best.
H: Ah, cheers bud. Means a lot and I’m really touched. Thanks for agreeing to the chat!
L: Next time you can come to my place. Just watch the land mines from the dog, and lost Lego from the kids. Peace out!
H: Floor lego! My old nemesis!
~ Social Media Links ~
I hope you enjoyed this interview with the lovely Lana Pecherczyk. She’s a force to be reckoned with in the world of Aussie paranormal romance, and she’s great to interact with on the socials, so here’s where you can give her a like and a follow:
Just came across this blog post from one of the Year 12 students I met in June at my old high school. She wants to be a writer too and seeing this post totally made my day, so I wanted to share it!
Good morning, afternoon, evening or whatever time you read this dear reader.
Guess what! I met a real life author! I mean you probably did if you were in the same room as me last Friday.
The imageabove is a lovely photoofformer Nagle student,award winning and soon to be published author, Holden Sheppard,and yours truly, me.
Holden’s novel,InvisibleBoysis described as “a punch in the face”. Which seems appropriate. I won’t give any spoilers, but the book describes the inner turmoil, struggles, and dilemmas of three youngmen in rural Australia as they come to terms with their identity in the society which demonises them.The content is unique with a letter seeping into the narrative of the chapters and a mystery revealed at the end. A book launch is happening on the 29thof October at theGeraldtonRegional…