“I’d never join a club that would allow a person like me to become a member”

Both Woody Allen and Groucho Marx are credited with the quote in this blog post’s title, so pick your favourite and it can be attributed to them.

Personally, I’m gonna side with Groucho on this one, only because he’s funny like Eddie Murphy or Tina Fey are funny. Whereas Woody Allen is funny like the-wasted-hobo-screaming-racial-epithets-on-the-street-is-looking-at-me-kinda-funny.

Anyway, all of this is to say I joined a bunch of stuff this week and it makes me feel much more writery. I feel no more cultured and no more intelligent, mind, but I feel like I’m at least doing the stuff that a 21st Century Digital Writer should do (free lamingtons if you get the punk reference).

The first thing I did was join WordPress at last. I knew I’d eventually need to start a damn blog like all the cool writers, but I kept putting it off the way you put off a trip to the dentist. The thought of having to write stuff that wasn’t fiction on a regular basis was literally as frightening to me as a root canal. Or that giant suction tube they stick down your throat. *shudder*

But now that I’m here, I can see that a blog, like brushing my teeth and flossing regularly, is actually pretty good for my health. I think I’m gonna like it here.

Then I joined Goodreads. That is a brand new experience for me, as both a writer and a reader. I’m still getting my head around how massive that site is. Especially how many levels of groups and discussions there must be. I did, however, introduce myself in a thread only to have another user recognise me from Twitter, so that was interesting to see how the social circles for writers must be quite small.

I do have a confession about Goodreads though. When they asked me to review like 20 books before I could continue to the next step, I randomly clicked on stuff that I *thought* would be okay. As in, I hadn’t actually read some of them. I thought The Martian by Andy Weir was probably a good book since the movie, uh, was a big deal and had Matt Damon in it. I didn’t realise this shit was going on my permanent record! Like, everyone can see it. So I’ve now had to go back and unrate all these rando novels because the guilt was just too much. (NB: This is what being raised Catholic can do to you.)

Last of all, as I’m *ahem* a full member of the Australian Society of Authors, I set up my new member portfolio on their website. It’s actually incredibly schmicko and looks ace. It’s an excellent, brief summary of my background, publishing history and credits, and my relevant skill set. The best thing is, employers can find me, so if they’ve got some doubloons to ditch at a penniless author at some point in the future, I might just be that author! Check it out here – and if you’re an Aussie author, get yourself signed up for one of these bad boys.

So it’s been a week of joining all these gnarly new platforms. Now I gotta start bloody well using them. 😀

‘Cause I’m a 21st Century Digital Boy

I don’t know how to get published but I’ve got a lot of online platforms …

 

 

 

Review: Secret Men’s Business by John Marsden

As a teenager I was so ashamed of reading this book, I hid it with my porn stash.

Whoa, did this book have an incredible impact on me as a kid.

When you’re a teenage boy, there are so many things you want to ask about being a bloke. secret men's business cover

You want to ask your dad, your brothers, your cousins, even your mates – but you don’t, because this is a verboten topic. You’re expected to know how to become a man without ever talking about it – because to talk about being a man means you must still be a boy, and the last thing a teenage boy wants to be called is a boy and not a man.

I remember finding Secret Men’s Business in the town library and being fascinated that a man had actually sat down and written all of this for us boys to just pick up and learn what we wanted to know. What an absolute champion. Marsden’s book tackled a wide range of topics, from the emotional to the sexual and highly visceral – the stuff you really couldn’t talk about with your dad. It was a thrilling, captivating read and it hit the mark.

My most vivid memory of the book is of hiding it. I don’t think my parents or anyone else knew I was reading it. I only read it in bed, after everyone in the house was asleep. It was hidden in a secret place in my bedroom. In fact, I hid it where I hid my porn magazines, and I would have probably had the same reaction if either item had been unwittingly found. There was a shame that came with reading this – because I felt like I should have already known it all: that manly wisdom should arrive via osmosis or telepathy, not from a book.

But despite that, I was still compelled to read this book. I had to know all the secret stuff about being a man – the stuff that nobody talked about. This book had it all. And I felt better once I’d finished it. I was less insecure; more confident. This book helped shape me as a man. It also helped shape me as a writer. I wanted to incorporate some of these themes, some of this masculine wisdom, some of this unabashed honesty, into my fiction – if I could find a way to do it well, of course.

John Marsden found a niche with this excellent book, and I’m so glad, because it changed my life for the better.

Holden

Notes on “A Man”

I am so pumped to share my short story ‘A Man’ as a free e-book for the first time today.1. A Man - Cover

‘A Man’ was my first traditionally-published short story. I wrote it as a uni assignment and, luckily, my lecturer encouraged me to submit the story to journals, which I did. A year later (in 2009) ‘A Man’ was published in Volume 3 of Indigo Journal – a fantastic journal which showcased Western Australia’s literary talent.

‘A Man’ is a fictional day-in-the-life of an Aussie labourer named Sam. It delves into a stream-of-consciousness about the protagonist’s work, his boredom, his stagnant life and his strained relationship with his girlfriend.

While the story is fictional, the idea was borne from my own time working as a labourer. I spent a couple of summers in my late teens on the shovel and operating a mini-excavator, doing earthmoving jobs – mostly digging trenches and filling them in again. This was in Geraldton in Australia’s Midwest, so there were plenty of scorching forty degree days and there’s no aircon outside: you’re sweltering for a good eight hours and you come home knackered.

The nature of labouring work is unexpectedly interesting for a writer, as it’s so rarely profiled in literature, least of all from a labourer’s point of view. It’s usually a completely male world and the work is manually hard and repetitive. It’s a taciturn environment: any talking is either instructional (required to get the job done, nothing more) or shit talk – sport, cars, women, dirty jokes.

But there is also plenty of silence when you’re digging and that leaves a lot of time to be absorbed in your own thoughts. Men who work as labourers aren’t usually outwardly expressive, so I wondered to myself about the other guys on the job – what was going through their heads on any given day?

‘A Man’ was written to capture a snapshot of the working man through a new lens. Many years after its first publication, the former editor of Indigo remarked that she had fond memories of the story, saying it had permanently changed her perspective of tradies and labourers. I hope it has an impact on you too.

I’ve made the story available for free – if you enjoy it, please leave a brief review on Smashwords or Amazon.

Happy reading!

Holden