The latter is out of print but I still have copies of Caged Without Walls available if you're interested. Yesterday I discovered that Better Read than Dead in Newtown were still stocking it. Well, they had a copy which was sold. Very nice to hear. Made my day.
As a matter of interest, this is the original cover which I put together. Back in 2012 I was considering self publishing it along with other stories until I found a publisher. A couple of those stories have since been published, most not. What do you think of the cover?
Speaking of anniversary's, its just over ten years since this Aussie classic album, Crossed Lines by 78 Saab. It received great reviews but not sales. Typical. They have been overlooked in a big way. Hopefully one day sense will prevail. They split up a few years back. No Illusions is the opening track. Do yourself a favour, track it down.
See you soon for new poetry and videos and who knows what else?
I recently came as close as I ever have in ten years
to having one of my novels accepted by a legitimate publisher. I sent it off, (the
entire novel rather than the usual first few chapters) and heard back within a
couple of months. They said they liked it and would be interested in looking at
it again if I were to make a few changes. It wasn’t anything to do with the
story but about the narrative voice. Essentially they wanted it more immediate.
I told them it would take a while as I
have a pretty busy life with two jobs, parenthood etc. They said they were okay with that.
I spent two months working hard on it. I updated
the voice and made lots of small changes and deletions and even injected a small sub-plot. I
thought it much better than it was and hoped they would agree. (I never
mentioned it to anyone as I’m kind of superstitious about these things).
I
sent it back.
A month went by. Nothing. Another couple of weeks passed.
Today I received a reply. It took me ten hours to bring myself to open the email. They liked the changes... yet decided that it wasn’t for
them after all.
Wow. Thanks!
Now I know how John Kennedy Toole felt. His journey
was very similar. So close yet rejected after giving them what they wanted. (Though I was dealing with a smaller press,
which I won’t name.) When you invest your heart and creative soul into a
project and have a little hook dangle in front of you like that, it can give
you hope.
It’s a very frustrating experience. I’m pretty
pissed off I guess. I finished writing the damn thing six years ago and can’t
get a look in. Well, I got a look in this time. Be careful what you wish for!
To be honest, I didn’t get my hopes up too much
because there’s mostly rejection in this game... you can’t afford to get excited.
I stopped doing that years ago. After all, tell me another occupation where you
spend a decade working with no result? Yes the novels are written so that is something unto itself. And no I won’t
self-publish because for me personally, I would feel like I failed.
Yes I should get back on the horse, but I’ve been
doing that for so long the poor thing’s about to croak from old age.
*2021 Update. Tired of their games and the every shrinking market, especially with the diversity driven craze which has pushed me even further to the side, I decided to go my own way in 2020. My Books
Franz was born in Prague
in 1883. He was Jewish and caught between two cultures flexing their
identity, German and Czech, neither of which favoured the Jews. (He considered
himself more German). He did come from a middle class family so he had a good education. He was soon a lawyer, yet he struggled with it, feeling that writing was his
calling and that too much time was spent on the ‘day job.’
Be careful what you
wish for.
The work
He had a
difficult relationship with his father, yet it influenced his writing. Art out of chaos. He was
also conflicted over being Jewish. He was in a relationship and was engaged. Yet he preferred to spend a great
deal of time alone. He favoured communicating with loved ones by letter
(hundreds of these survive).
As with many
great artists and writers, few of his writings were published in his lifetime, only a small handful of stories. Some call him the greatest writer of the century but he was never to
know success.
Much has been
said of his work. It's simple enough to research so I’ll keep it brief. He had written novels, or began them yet never finished one. They were The Trial, The Castle and The Stoker (Amerika). He had also collated story collections,
one of which Kafka was preparing to publish. Tragically he died before he could do so, at
the young age of forty in 1924.
Personal
Franz suffered from
tuberculosis, which would ultimately kill him. He spent much of his life in sanatoriums.
He lived with his sister for a time which he thoroughly enjoyed. He had to be
put on a pension. He was shy about his body and had low self-confidence, yet
was interested in women and sex and visited brothels as well as being engaged
several times. Ironically the women spoke of his quiet confidence, despite his shyness. His intelligence is evident. This is a man conflicted, a state which often produces great
work. His writing is full of paranoia and confusion, almost surrealistic in nature, yet
highly original and philosophical.
Much has been
written about him and there is a lot to explore. Films have been made of his work, notable The Trial by Orson Welles and Kafka by Steven Soderburgh. Franz died from starvation, brought on by his illness swelling his throat.We would not know of Franz at all if it wasn't for his friend Max Brod. Brod did not
follow Franz’s instructions to destroy the work after his death. Over a twelve year period Brod
published a great deal of it, yet much remained incomplete and was difficult to
arrange, perhaps adding to the mystique of Franz Kafka.
It came to mind some place, probably in the crapper and I realised that it had been thirty years since it came out. That realisation got me thinking about youth and promises and time slipping away, coupled with the life of a band, many bands actually, and it kind of got me to this...
The future is what was
They sang
Where will we be
in thirty years?
A minor hit
Some band members
laughed
‘Who gives a
fuck anyway?’
Tomorrow never
comes.
They put out the
album
Toured and
partied
And rested
Some fighting
began
While writing
new songs
With mild
success
And suddenly
there was more to lose
So they dug
their heels in
And eventually
delivered
Their sophomore
work
Not without
its stresses
And cost
Financially and
otherwise.
A year went by
And their sound
was
Not as
fashionable
Nor their unity
So they split
Eager to begin anew
Which they did
With new members
And work was
produced
More mature this
time
More satisfying
Yet could not
raise an iota
Of public
interest.
The following
occasion was similar
Their fourth
album disappeared
Without ever
being visible
Their career languished
As family
requirements grew
Unawares a
decade and a half
Dissipated
Music had become
Garage
indulgences
Until the kids
were old enough
To comprehend
Coupled with the
urge
To re-impress
As life is never
‘over with’
Even if their career
was
So the talk of
reunification began
Exploding a can
of worms
Which took legal
Two years to
quantify.
By the time they
hit the road again
They could
answer
Their
own initial question
Back where they
started from
Yet somehow
Much worse off
The suburban
circuit
Paling in
comparison.
After five
months
There was no
need to ponder their future
Like they once
had
They could
already see the end
The rest of the
tour
Was without
speculation.
On a side note, I once worked with Brian Mannix, lead singer of Uncanny X-Men. It was on a film clip shoot for another band he fronted called The Atomic Dining Club. it was in Melbourne during a freezing winter's night under the West Gate Bridge. The encounter probably found its way into the poem too. The follow up band wasn't bad, but pretty much disappeared without ever really surfacing. Brian also helped produce the Countdown Musical that was out roughly a decade ago. The Uncanny X-Men are still around but haven't released any new albums since the eighties. At any rate, this poem could be about any band, or any youthful endeavour. Happy to hear your thoughts that it may have brought up.
NB: None of the photographs are of the Uncanny X-Men.
