New Digs

Looking over my well-worn and semi-retired Blogger blog, it’s painfully easy to notice that I haven’t posted in almost one year. And before that, the posting was pretty damned infrequent.

I could blame work, moving house, travelling overseas, not writing, not making music, spending too much time playing computer games, drinking too much absinthe … but only one of these would be true.

Yeah, you got me. It was the absinthe.



Rather than trying to force discipline onto my inconsistent personality, I thought it might be easier to start a new blog at some new digs.

Same name as the old one, same guy writing. Here’s hoping he writes more.

From now on, you can find me over at www.danielhatadi.com.

SEX, THUGS AND ROCK & ROLL is now available

Smack bang in the middle of a fine collection of thuggery related literature is my story, BUDDHA BEHIND BARS. It's my first publishing credit so I'm celebrating by dehydrating a bottle of Johnnie Walker and snorting it off the belly of ... okay, I'm just having a glass of Coke. But still, I'm hoping this will kick my arse on to a chair and force me to write some more.

With an intro penned by Sarah Weinman, followed by a love letter from Big Daddy Thug, the collection includes stories from the broken keyboards of Patricia Abbott, Jonas Knutsson, Jedidiah Ayres, Justin Porter, Albert Tucher, Joe R. Landsdale, Scott Wolven, D.T. Kelly, Marcus Sakey, Steven M. Messner, Hugh Lessig, Lyman Feero, Gary Carson, Matthew Baldwin and Jason Starr.

The faint of heart and the high of morals need not apply.

I'm Back

And I've been back for a number of weeks.

Something that happens when you're away from constant internet access for a decent length of time is that you have a lessened desire to get back to the internet. So since I came back to Sydney I've been slowly ramping up my internet usage. It feels like it will never again reach the heady heights of my initial excursions into blogging and social networking.

And I have plenty of guitar to play, so don't expect me around so much. It's a little more than hibernation.

Of course, every time I say something like this I tend to indulge in a short burst of posts, so there's every chance you can look forward to some of my travel notes from New York and Los Angeles.

Anyway, I'm back.

Gone Fishin'

It's pretty easy for three weeks to pass without my posting here, but I just thought I'd let you all know ... I'm going overseas for three weeks. New York and Los Angeles to be exact. I'll definitely be meeting some of the people that have read this blog for the very first time and I hope to meet a few others too. Like these guys.

Have fun, all. Don't break the place while I'm gone.

The Lineup: Poems On Crime, Issue 1 Out Now

"...every word has purpose: to plant clues, reveal character, move toward resolution."
Gerald So

Edited by Gerald So of Thrilling Detective, with Patrick Shawn Bagley, R. Narvaez, and Anthony Rainone.

Including the hard-hitting poets Patrick Shawn Bagley, Ken Bruen, Sarah Cortez, Graham Everett, Daniel Hatadi, Daniel Thomas Moran, R. Narvaez, Robert Plath, Misti Rainwater-Lites, Stephen D. Rogers, A.E. Roman, Sandra Seamans, Gerald So, KC Trommer.

Now available in paperback from Lulu.com and Murder By the Book (Houston, TX)



Get the lowdown at poemsoncrime.blogspot.com

Hibernating With The Green Fairy

With this blog nearing its fourth birthday, I find myself less and less inclined to post.

Generally when I have an interesting topic of discussion centring around crime fiction, I'd much rather keep the booze flowing over at CrimeSpace by posting it in the forum. So this particular spot on the web has become more of a news list than something with regular meaty content.

Before your heart attacks you, don't worry, I'm not closing the blog down. But I do seem to be shifting into my regular wintry hibernation, just like the big teddy bear that I really am.

To explain further, interests not involving the internet--at least the crime fiction part of it--have been happily taking up brain space over at Casa Hatadi's Cranium Lounge & Bar.

Having recently purchased a respectable amount of camera gear, I've been teaching myself the digital photographic ropes. You can witness the constant fruits of these efforts in the sidebar under Photografia, or go straight to my Flickr account to stalk me over there.

The other interest that has taken up the full services of my liver and brain has been that of The Green Fairy known as absinthe. This has tied in with writing, over at my Absinthe-Minded Journal. Behind the scenes I have also been very slowly working on an absinthe-related crime story, as well as trying my hand at some very melodramatic and purple poetry.

On Sunday, the two of these interests combined to form some kind of pinnacle*.

You see, one night after coming back from a work function more than a little toasted, I received an email that led me to order a very small, sample bottle of approximately 100 year old absinthe. 50mls to be precise. That's two small shots, enough to make two decent glasses of absinthe. I won't share the price of it here, as it made someone at my workplace have a minor choking fit.

This weekend I invited a couple of fellow absintheurs to partake of the extremely aged amber nectar and in between tastes, gasps and giggles I tried my hand at updating a famous absinthe painting.

So, until I blog again with some real news or expand my range of topics for some real content, I leave you all with a taste of my handiwork.



An update of a famous absinthe painting. The newspaper is the Sydney Morning Herald from 8th June, 2008 and the absinthe is a glass of Pernod Fils circa 1910.



The original: Based on a painting by Charles Maire (1845-1919), this ubiquitous print advertising Pernod Fils once hung in almost every bar and cafe in France.

Cheers,
Daniel

* Or possibly just a Voltron-like robot sword.

Happy Birthday To Me

Thank all possible deities for Sazeracs. I'm 35.

Six Random Things About Me

Bagley tagged me with this one. I ain't tagging anyone else. Yes, I'm a rebel without a cause, without a pause, without drawers?

1. When I was sixteen, I fell in love with the saxophone. Because I couldn't afford one, I bought a harmonica instead. I've been playing ever since.
2. For one whole year in high school, I only wore red socks. Yes, with other clothes. Quiet, you in the back.
3. My biggest fear is an almost indescribable feeling of being turned inside-out in more than three dimensions.
4. I can flare my nostrils on cue. Hey, not everyone can.
5. My cat's name is Dax. He's a moggie, but mostly Russian Blue with a touch of Oriental.
6. I was on Facebook for a while until it gave me the shits. So I removed myself. My digestion improved immediately.
   

I Was Born In The Wrong Decade

I'm sure this would have been cheaper in the late 30s. Right now, I'd have to kill for it.

I'm thinking about it.

Tom Waits: Down In The Hole

The song that gave this blog its title.

Yoga: The First Night

When I fully commit to something, I usually don't mess around. So after my last visit to the sleep specialist I decided to enrol in a beginner's course in yoga, the first night of which was last night.

As the hour drew near, I found myself thinking that I'd rather stay home and watch a movie or read a book or play some video games. I was feeling tired as per usual and I started resenting the fact that I'd enrolled in the course. I thought that yoga was a new age bit of wankery that only materialistic Westerners indulged in, etc. This is the kind of stupid thinking I go through when I'm feeling nervous.

All that faded away once I was inside the studio and on my mat, in the front row of a group of about thirty people. What I quickly discovered was that there was no time to think about body image issues or how silly I looked doing the poses or even anything about the world outside the yoga class. I was simply too busy trying to keep up with the instructor.

And she really knew her stuff. She had a smooth, pleasant voice, didn't stutter or mumble, and filled in the empty gaps between poses with general yoga tips. She took us through Mountain, Tree, Child, Boat and Corpse pose, all of which have Sanskrit names that I won't bother looking up just now, but the English names are all very apt. I especially liked Tree and Mountain pose because, for whatever reason, they gave me little tingles of endorphins, and Vishnu knows I need them.

I sweated, I grunted, I did my best to stretch and concentrate on breathing with my belly, both of which I discovered I am terrible at. My legs are as inflexible as a Romanian grandmother (and I know this, because I have one), my nose lets in air like clenched buttocks don't, and my belly can't make up its mind whether it wants to go in or out.

But none of this mattered. I was using my body and it felt good.

The class took a total of 75 minutes, but it felt like a lot less. As we came to the end, candlelight replaced artificial light and New Age music took over from the voice of the instructor (or should that be teacher?). I lay on my back and closed my eyes, trying desperately to forget about the rest of the world as an assistant came round and dumped an eye pillow on my face. She must have seen me flinch, because I heard her warn the next person along.

The music faded out and a gentle gong rang out across the room; once, twice. We all sat up and while the teacher told us the meaning of namaste, the gong fell off its stand and banged against the wall. Normally this would have been cause for a gasp or a small scream, but in our relaxed state, no one seemed to notice, and when the teacher told us to pretend it didn't happen, we had already forgotten about it.

Even though I'm not entirely sure I'll stick with it after I complete the eight week course, my first experience with yoga is definitely a positive one, and I'm looking forward to the rest of the course.

The Saga Of Sleep: Part III

(Part I and II).

A few weeks after the overnight sleep study, I returned to the sleep specialist for a diagnosis.

He was a young Asian man with an expensive and modern grey suit, a tasteful wedding band on a manicured finger, and a habit of shaking hands and telling you to call him by his first name. This appeared to be a technique for getting me to feel at ease, to make me feel that he was paying special attention to me and my case.

Yeah, I felt a little like Philip Marlowe, walking into that place.

Once we sat down, Frank pulled out the three sheets of data collated from my sleep study and started taking me through the various sections. Skip the next paragraph if numbers and details make your eyes glaze over.

From a total of 6 hours, I slept 4.7, with frequent arousals, 34 of which were associated with respiratory events. These little lapses are known as hypopneas, which simply means shallow breathing. None of them lasted for more than 30 seconds, and my oxygen levels never dropped below 90%. My brain activity was high throughout the night and my deepest stages of sleep, including dreamtime or REM sleep, were all below par, but still present. Overall, sleep efficiency was down to 78.1%, but maintenance was at a nice and safe 96.1%.

Diagnosis: mild obstructive sleep apnea.

What does this mean? Well, since my sleep for the night was always bound to be worse than normal, the doctor's opinion was that there wasn't much wrong with me. Nothing that losing 10% of my body weight wouldn't fix. He also gave me a nasal spray to try and lessen the shallow breathing. After nutting out some of these details, I asked the doctor for a copy of all the data.

This took a total of ten minutes and a cost of $100. The doctor also said that there was no need for me to visit him again.

I walked out of the doctor's office into the tepid air of the city of Sydney and breathed in the morning pollution. A wave of anger, frustration, and helplessness swept through me. After all that, I still slept like crap and that doctor didn't give a rat's arse if I did or didn't. My oxygen levels were fine and that was all that mattered to him. This sleep problem was my fault, because I'd allowed myself to put on some kilos. My fault because I had bad sleep habits and hadn't put enough effort into setting up a good sleep environment.

My fault because I thought too much.

Not being one to hold a grudge or indulge in excess bitterness (and also never blog about it), I let this feeling swoop through me and move away. There was good news here. I didn't have a serious problem in the shape of life-threatening sleep apnea. I didn't have to spend a grand or so on a bedside air pump and mask. All I had to do was lose some weight, try out this nasal spray for a month, take up some more regular exercise, and see what I could do about my sleep habits and environment.

I won't lie, my sleep problems have affected my relationship, but after telling this news to Mary, I found that she was right on top of things, and that means the world to me. She suggested I try walking with her in the evenings or taking up yoga. She said let's get a new bed, one that will move less. And avoid caffeine, eat better, etc.

Thanks for being there, babe.

So now I've booked into a beginner's course in yoga, at the same place that Mary frequents. We've checked out some futons and have almost settled on one. I've taken the nasal spray as directed for a few nights now and I find myself sneezing or having what I call 'throat hiccups' much less as I fall asleep. I'm trying to develop a better wind down routine before bed, including a cut-off hour for computer related activities (sorry, Mr. Xbox).

I'm not totally convinced that doing all this is going to help. The issue of brain activity is still there, and I'm wondering if there's a touch of Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome going on. But I'm on the case, I've narrowed down some areas to attack, and I'm looking forward to having more energy during the day.

We'll see how it goes.

The Saga Of Sleep: Part II

(Part I).

My sleep study ended up being scheduled the night before my work Christmas party, so in an effort to make it all easier on myself, I took the day off work.

I turned up to the sleep clinic with a duffel bag filled with pyjamas, books (Tana French's IN THE WOODS and Duane Swierczynski's THE WHEELMAN), a pillow, and extra underwear (you never know). After a relaxing check-in where the nurse did her best to sooth my troubled soul with the mention of a catheter, I was led to my room in the sleep study ward.

St. Lukes is somewhere between a hospital and a bed-and-breakfast joint, an older building that isn't the usual hospital maze but is still filled with the expected equipment (and thankfully not the usual smells). My room had a semi-obscured view of the buildings around Potts Point, with a picturesque backdrop of the city to flesh things out.

Not long after settling in, the first assistant of the night showed up to tell me the plan for the stay. First, dinner; hospital style, followed by the initial stage of hooking me up to the equipment. Later in the evening, the final stage of the hookup would leave me semi-chained to my bed, so I was advised to make plenty of trips to the toilet beforehand. So, no catheter, but I did have the option of a bottle if needed.

The first stage of hookup made me feel a little like I was going to one of those hairdressers that specialise in rastafarian-style dreadlocks, although this lot had a decidedly cyber influence. Then I had a couple of hours to kill so I paced around and took some photos. I'm especially proud of my Blue Steel look. Either proud or embarrassed, I'm not sure.

Stage two of my Borg-like transformation saw me hooked up to various equipment that measured parameters such as EEG (brainwaves), EMG (leg movements), airflow, and oxygen levels. At this point I settled in for a good few chapters of IN THE WOODS, which was far less heart-pounding than THE WHEELMAN. Around midnight I wound down enough to switch off the light and attempt to find a comfortable position with cables coming from my head, legs, finger, and nose.



I slept like crap, of course, for an estimated total of three hours before I had to wake at the ungodly time of 6am. Some exciting moments throughout the night included taking the tubes out of my nose to blow it, standing at an angle to fill the urine bottle, and waking up half an hour before I needed to. With the work Christmas party being an all day affair, I can say I'm very glad for the existence of bourbon and Coke.

Stay tuned to find out the results and the aftermath in Part III.

The Saga Of Sleep: Part I

Michelle Shocked once sang 'sleep keeps me awake all night'. For me, that's almost true, but not quite.

See, I've had a little demon on my back for many years now, and it has been the demon of sleep. A demon that is so easy to accept, even though it's a situation that's not the greatest. So easy to just say I'm a light sleeper and be done with it. But there's more to it than that. I wake easily, find it hard to fall asleep, and my sleep is heavily affected by my environment: bed, climate, noise, movement, you name it.

But the last few months it has been particularly bad.

I've had nights and weeks where I seem to be doing everything right, keeping a good sleep pattern, staying away from caffeine, exercising, and even creating an environment where I have minimal distractions while sleeping. Thing is, even with all of this, I've had many mornings where I wake up feeling like I'm hungover, without the fun of having got there in the first place.

Doctors are people I generally avoid, but I finally decided to tackle this sleep problem once and for all a few weeks ago. I went to my local doctor, told him the situation, and had him refer me to a sleep specialist. Did some talking with this next guy and he booked me in for a sleep study, an overnight stay at a sleep clinic where they hook you up in all manner of ways and monitor your activity throughout the night. Tomorrow I'm visiting Mr. Sleep Doc again. He'll tell me what the data from the overnight stay means.

I'm betting on one of two things: I have sleep apnea, or it's all psychological. In a strange way, I hope it's the former.

But you'll have to wait to read all about it. Next part will be about my overnight stay, complete with Borg-like photos of myself.

And yes, I'm that much of a geek.

(Part II and III).

End Of Days

The New Year's Eve state-of-life post has become a small tradition for me.

I like breaking tradition.

So let us raise our glasses and drink instead, for ...



See you next year.

Coming Out Of Hibernation

Every so often I find myself going through a bout of solitude. This has been happening for the last couple of months, possibly brought on by an abnormally cold Sydney winter and probably compounded by the re-entry into my life of copious amounts of caffeine.

Yes, I'm quitting it again.

During my hibernation I didn't spend a lot of time on the Internet, aside from keeping a watchful eye on Crimespace, but I also found myself not being much of a social animal in the real world.

Maybe it's the return of sunlight, or maybe I've had my fill of creative solitude, but this weekend I felt a shift back to normality. Evidence of this is clear: I actually enjoyed going to a party and sucking down cocktails. On top of that, I'm writing this post.

Solitude's been great, though. I obsessed over the love I'd thrown away: music. I researched lots of new audio gear and was blown away by how much everything's progressed since I left it all behind a few years ago.

For those that might find it interesting, I have a new soundcard, microphone, preamp (complete with tubes), guitar pedal, keyboard, and a couple of programs. Maybe that's a lot of money spent on what is just a hobby, but it's no more expensive than a decent digital camera.

And whenever I look at all that music making gear set up neatly in my 'studio', I have a warm fuzzy feeling inside. Or it could be just the heat coming off all the equipment.

Either way, I'm back.

In Real Life: Katherine Howell and Leigh Redhead

Having entered the world of crime fiction on the Internet about the same time I started reading properly again, I've had the distinct pleasure of getting to know much more than a handful of people, virtually. I've exchanged critiques, indulged in conversation on forums, even emailed about personal issues, but I've never actually met anyone in person. Until just the other day.

Authors Katherine Howell and Leigh Redhead happened to be dropping into Better Read Than Dead, one of my favourite book stores. My local, in fact. So when I received an email from Katherine inviting me to coffee afterwards, I was well chuffed. And a little anxious.

See, the people I know In Real Life are people I've met through friends, at clubs or parties, at work ... but never through the Internet. Considering I'm a programmer by day, you'd think I'd be fine with this. And I am. It's just that ... I've never met anyone through the Internet before. In all honesty, I was a little nervous to meet them both.

And I did this about about fifteen minutes after I'd planned to, on account of confusing the meeting spot with another cafe that happened to be right up the other end of King Street. After an embarrassing phone call to Katherine--embarrassing because I only live just down the road--I made it to the cafe, hot and sweaty from the brisk walk in the unusually warm sun.

The cafe was chaotic and noisy, so while we made our introductions, I ordered a coffee to calm my nerves. Yes, Mr. I Just Quit Caffeine decided to have a coffee. To relax. With my jitters now in full force, we powered through the conversation, learning a lot about each other's experiences in the world of writing in a very short time.

What I learned:

• Leigh did roughly the same PI course as me, although she dropped out further into it, but not before having a rollicking good time on the surveillance practical.
• Katherine has seen people die and live again, but none of them have gone on to write psychic self-help books about their experiences. Although there was one woman who thought she died for two weeks before returning to this material plane. The only explanation I could offer for this was the wanton use of chemicals.
  
• Both Leigh and Katherine were the only crime writers during their shared time at Varuna, the NIDA of the writing industry in Australia.
  
• I'm not the only writer who has complicated strategies for procrastination and Internet avoidance / addiction.
• Australian publishers seem to put a fair amount of effort into promoting their authors.
• Peter Temple is probably not going to join Crimespace (yes, I hope he sees this). Actually, I just made this one up. But I'm still hoping he sees it. And joins. Peter?
  
• When Katherine and Leigh saw the Crimespace t-shirt pictured above, they both wanted one. I must look into ways of getting them printed in bulk. Until then ... there's always the store.
• And one last plug for Crimespace: Leigh and Katherine were amazed at the number of very cool crime fiction authors out there in the world.
  

It was great to meet and chat with Katherine and Leigh. Not just because it was the first time I could share out loud the thoughts I've had locked inside my head for the last three years (must remember to avoid mentioning my fetish for sniffing book binding glue), but also because they were both nice enough not to run away screaming.

I'm currently powering through Leigh's debut novel, PEEPSHOW, but I couldn't miss the opportunity to get signed copies of their books. Leigh's being CHERRY PIE, the latest in the same series as the debut, and Katherine's being FRANTIC, the beginning of what promises to be an exciting series.

By all accounts, it looks like I'm in for a great read.

Interviews from ABC: Katherine Howell, Leigh Redhead

Big Face Of Books

Made with the help of LibraryThing and MacOSaiX (PC users can try Andrea Mosaic).

Five Years On

Five years ago on this day, I held an alcohol-fueled birthday party at my bachelor pad in the burbs. There was much fuel consumed by all. Mary was one of those consumers and towards the end of the night, she told me she was staying. I wasn't about to disagree. That night turned into two days that extended into us moving in together and being together for five years, a personal record for both of us in terms of relationships.

Since there's no point in me trying to top Mary's post for our special day, I'm just going to share with you all a picture of the rings we put a down payment on today. They come from a dark and mysterious store tucked away in the Strand Arcade, smack in the middle of Pitt Street Mall, Sydney. The place is called Love & Hatred. The white gold ring is mine, but will be without the Latin text; the rose gold ring is Mary's and the symbols on it represent the four seasons.

We're not into marriage as such, but this is a mark of our commitment to each other. Here's to our love, through all the seasons to come.

Gobble Up Catch-Up

It's been a while since I've posted, mostly due to trying to limit my internet time to maintaining Crimespace. But there's something almost hypnotic and PacMan-like in gobbling up the bullets in a list, so I thought I'd give you people some little pills of Hatadi-tidbits to pop into your mouth.

Why? Because pills are good. Both my doctor and dealer agree.

What Hatadi Done Done Lately:

• Successfully quit caffeine. Okay, I had a bottle of Coke on the weekend, but I've been good otherwise, and the moods swings are finally on their way out the door.
• Polished off an entry for the Debut Daggers. I wasn't going to, but when I found out how many people I knew were entering I had to jump in on the insanity. It's possibly the strongest entry I've sent them so far, but I'm sure the competition will blow me away. That doesn't matter, though. There's nothing like a deadline--and money on the line--to kick your own arse into gear.
  
• Polished off another short and sent it off. There's every chance it could be about the world's first homeless vampire. Failing that, there's at least 3 out of 14 chances.
  
• Crimespace membership's just shy of 600 now. I'm equal parts excited and afraid. But I think that's a good way to live.
• Went around my whole house and put up my meagre collection of books on LibraryThing. I love the function they have for looking at all your books on one page. I may just try my hand at making a collage like this guy did. I've also added a random display of covers in the sidebar. Why? Because I'm geeky, and the Geek shall inherit the Earth.
• Watched A LOT of Battlestar Galactica. Almost two seasons worth. It's quickly become one of my favourite TV shows of all time. Until the next one hits anyway.