New Crime Fiction Podcast: In For Questioning

One of Crimespace's own, Angie Johnson-Schmit, has started up a crime fiction podcast called In For Questioning, with the first interviewee being yours truly.

Hopefully you'll enjoy me hurting all your ears with my inane babble about starting up Crimespace and writing songs about dead rubber chickens.

Next week's interview will be with Cornelia Read, and there are many more authors that I'm dead excited to hear getting grilled by Angie.

This is the start of something special and I'm well chuffed to be part of it, not only in terms of the interview, but I can also take credit for composing the theme music.

Enjoy!

Hatadi Is A Zygote

Thanks to a few kind words from Steve Allan, I submitted a short piece to Zygote In My Coffee which they have just published. It's called 100 Words On Boredom, something a little more literary and a lot less crimey than usual for me.

Hope you like it.

Make A Grown Man Giggle

Crime + Horror = Computer Game?

It's not often that a computer game crosses over into blog-worthy material, but The Darkness goes against that by being a cross between crime and horror, a genre combination that's a semi-obsession of mine. Mostly because I'm trying to write a novel that does just that, but also because I think the two genres are a natural mix.

And it's a not-so-sneaky way for me to plug my article running in issue 19 of Crimespree Magazine, titled 'Crime+Horror=Thriller'.

From Wikipedia:

In modern day New York City, Jackie Estacado is a young Mafia hitman just turning 21, and finds himself the victim of an assassination attempt orchestrated by the don, his "Uncle" Paulie. Surviving the explosion meant to kill him as he crashes through a window, Jackie begins planning his revenge. A voice in his head manifests, calling itself "The Darkness", and demonstrates the power it has over Jackie by controlling his body and enabling him to use supernatural appendages and powers to violently eliminate all of the hitmen sent to make sure that he was dead.



In terms of both genres, you can see that the premise is filled to the brim with stereotypes. Mafia hitmen and demonic supernatural powers all exist within one young man that just happens to wear a long black leather coat and has long black flowing hair. On the surface, it seems fairly straightforward, but the presentation of the whole makes the game hang together beautifully.

The voice of the demonic presence known as 'The Darkness' is none other than Mike Patton of Faith No More, Mister Bungle and probably too many other side projects for me to name. Patton has possibly the most demented control over his vocal chords in the world, save for the Satanic bluesman himself, Tom Waits. Patton's voice isn't the only one that's top notch. The main character, Jackie, strikes just the right note of tough and cool, New York, 'I don't give a fuck' style ever heard in a computer game.

And I must give points for a great start to the dialogue: "I remember the night of my 21st birthday. That was the first time I died." Another happy line comes in the form: "Is there a way out of this fucking cemetery?"

Graphics are suitably moody and (dare I say it?) dark, with the demonic tentacles that represent Jackie's supernatural powers slithering menacingly all over the screen, making you feel as if they are growing out of your own shoulders as you walk around the neighbourhood laying waste to all the mafia types that get in your way.



I'm only part of the way into the game, but I'm told that the story hangs together well, which is a difficult thing to do in a computer game. You want to give the player a feeling of freedom, but not too much. The Darkness does well here because the player is forced to feel what the main character is going through by using a solid and immersive first person perspective.

The story is fleshed out with a third person voice over where we see Jackie gesticulate in time to his speech over a more than decent soundtrack. And something I haven't seen done in a computer game before: they put the effort in to make you care for the characters before they're killed.

Okay, I'll admit I'm a gamer. Not obsessively so, but a definite regular. What pulls this game above the rest is the attention the makers have put into creating an actual story. I'm tempted to say it's one of the finest examples of interactive fiction I've ever come across.

Gamers, go buy it. Readers and writers, see if you can look into it, as long as you don't mind a game that allows the player to devour still-beating hearts from victims.

There, I finally blogged again. Phew.

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.

More Publisher Laziness

Rickards has copped it twice now. The Rap Sheet has been keeping an eye out for it. Now it seems to be Olen's turn, although at least his book came out first. I only noticed it because I'm still reading Olen's previous novel and I was surprised to see what I thought was his book in the wrong part of the crime section.

I have to ask: Has it always been this way, or are we all just noticing it now?

The One That Bruce Let Get Away

For some unknown reason, I never did get my arse into gear to buy a harmonica microphone when I was deep into the music thang. Lately, something of that old fire's been returning and I've decided to re-acquire gear to replace the stuff I sold when I stupidly decided to leave music behind.

That's at least two buttock-related mentions in one paragraph. It's all about butts in chairs round these here parts.

After spending some time watching the harp-mike selling vibe on eBay, I stumbled across a devilish looking ashtray-like beastie of a mike. It called to my cupped hands, aching for my smoke-laden breath to fight its way through a Mississippi Saxophone and caress the element inside.

I don't smoke, but the red silk peeking out from behind the microphone's grill combined with the decent internals at a decent price. I was sold.

Here's the wild and crazy blurb from the eBay listing of this latest of my material acquisitions:

This Vintage Olson Microphone arrived in pretty bad condition a few weeks ago so the original green paint has been removed and the mic has been refinished in Black Hammertone.

The original Crystal element was DOA and has been replaced with a Hi-Z Shure 520DX Green Bullet element and transformer which was removed from a Shure 520DX. This element has Super Strong Output and plenty of Thick Gritty Chicago Tone. The Chrome Grille is in good condition but does show some blemishes. I've placed copper wire mesh behind it with a red silk backing to dress up the appearance.

This particular microphone was one of a pair that I recently received that were reportedly owned by Bruce Willis at one time, but I have no way to substantiate that!

The swivel-mount has been chopped from the microphone and a 1/4" jack has been placed in the bottom toward the back of the shell. The volume control has been added at the bottom of the mic and is slightly recessed in the bottom fin of the mic to keep it out of the way when playing.

Don't let this one get away!

From the Harp Mic Shop.

Not Dead ...

... but between working on the novel, getting Ringed (not married), becoming a Godfather (with the dual role of uncle), and hanging out on Crimespace, I just haven't been blogging.

I'm sure this is only temporary.

NaNoWriMo: Better Late Than Never

Possibly something that no publisher need ever know about, but the novel I'm working on right now started as a NaNoWriMo project.

Having only achieved a word count of 32,605 words, I could not declare myself a winner at the time, and I could not receive the glorious prize of Nothing Much Really. What I did win were those 32K words, a rough plot for the rest, and a determination to finish the damned thing.

I'm not quite there yet, but today saw me finally reach the NaNoWriMo goal of 50,000 words.

32,000 words in one month.

18,000 in six.

You have to love the power of procrastination.

The Real Joker

Courtesy of Ray Banks.

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.
  

Caffeine Blues

Since I started work for my current employer, I have been a happy and not so happy purveyor of the multiple evils known as coffee, Coke, Pepsi Max (my favourite poison), and all the other flavours of caffeine.

At first, it started off as a way to help me adjust to my new time zone. In the months between jobs, I quickly developed a habit of staying up late and getting up later. Turning up to work by 9am seemed a monumental task and my drug of choice, caffeine, seemed to be the obvious way of dealing with my lack of wakefulness.

Things have changed lately. I'd been having coffee with breakfast, followed by a hit of Pepsi Max when I got to work. That same bottle kept me going all day but left me worn out and cranky. Add to that the extra workload at my job and at Crimespace, as well as trying to work on a novel, and my head has been on the verge of exploding. Minor issues have blown out of all proportion and in The Real World I've been short, sharp, and snappy.

So yesterday, I quit caffeine. I've done this before and was without coffee and Coke for years. My head was clearer and I slept better. I'll still allow myself the pleasure of tea, but it's time to return to that previous version of me, the nicer version. I'll yawn for a couple of weeks and probably have a few minor headaches, but it'll be worth it.

This isn't really a big deal. It's just caffeine, nothing I've snorted or injected, but I'm putting this up here to keep myself honest. This makes it real.

Today's drug service announcement was brought to you by the letter C, which doesn't stand for 'sea'.

Gained In Translation

Computer based language translation is always good for a few laughs, but I've never been the subject of the original text before, so I thought I'd share what happens when Germans and Italians write about me.

What have I learned from this? I have learned that I am The Macher who writes yellow and pumps benzine. I'm sure this makes a lot more sense in the original languages, but I'm still planning on taking my new-found powers on board. Except maybe the bit about writing yellow. Unless I can find some snow.

This frippery leads me nicely onto the subject of translation of fiction. I'm working my way through the first issue of Murdaland and the stories translated from Spanish to English both exhibit a similar quirkiness that I've seen before.

Months ago now, I read Haruki Murakami's HARD-BOILED WONDERLAND AND THE END OF THE WORLD. Even though it was originally in Japanese, the Spanish short stories from Murdaland have the same wonderful inconsistencies. I don't think this has anything to do with the quality of the translation, but there are definite artefacts when thoughts are shifted into a different culture and system of thinking.

I say system of thinking because I'm of the opinion that each language has a base set of assumptions that affect every thought made through that language. Some languages attach gender to inanimate objects, some don't have an equivalent word for 'self-esteem', some have many words to describe different types of snow, some only have one word for love.

While meaning can be lost in translation, something else can happen too. A well-turned phrase, a combination of words that would not normally exist in English can bring a smile to your face or create a poetic rhythm that has its own charm. The foreignness of the culture or the thinking behind the writing is what makes it so fresh.

But it doesn't always work and I've found that there are passages that I zoom through with glee then get pulled up short when a joke or idea doesn't translate well to English. I can't help but wonder what would have happened if the writer wrote in English from the beginning. But like Douglas Adam's poet who wrote on leaves and whose work was ruined when time travellers gave him liquid paper, I doubt the final work would have the same originality.

Something lost, but something gained. I might go read some Arnaldur Indridason right now.

Murdaland Hits Australia

It's been a while since I've attached a book to my face and affected a cheesy, noirish stare. So when my first copy of Murdaland showed up on the great shore of Terra Australis, I figured the time had come again. And it was a great excuse to improve my Photoshop skillz.

The book itself is beautifully designed, complete with a satiny matt feel that my grubby hands love running over. I'm such a sucker for a good cover. To tell you the truth, I haven't even read a word of it yet, just skimmed through to get a feel for it. I want to devote my complete attention to Murdaland's first issue (right now that's taken up by Ray Banks' SATURDAY'S CHILD), because it's the type of crime fiction that excites me. And I may be the only one in Australia with a copy, so it feels somewhat exclusive.

It amazes me that what is supposed to be a magazine is, in reality, a book. A whole goddamned book of short crime fiction. And they're going to do it twice a year. I'm really looking forward to more issues, and I may just make it my personal mission in life to get one of my stories in there.

What Do I Read?

After all that huge-in-your-face-logo-talkin-like-I'm-never-gonna-post-here-again, Marshal Zeringue over at Writers Read (of course they do!) has posted a little ditty on, well, What I Read.

Also up on the site are a few names that might be familiar to my irregular readers: Libby Fischer Hellmann, Kevin Guilfoile, and Paul Guyot.

Where Am I?

If I'm not posting a lot over here, there's a good reason for it. At least for now, and quite possibly for the next few weeks, I'm spending all my internet time over here:

CRIMESPACE

Ken Bruen Appreciation Day

The word had passed around on various forums and blogs, and the word had said that Ken Bruen was the crime writer to be reading. I was but a wide-eyed cadet in the world of crime fiction, so I kept at least one of those wide eyes on the lookout for Bruen novels.

Couldn't find one.

What was up? If this guy was so crash hot, why weren't his novels in Borders or Dymocks or Kinokuniya? The conundrum stumped me for a couple of weeks, until I figured out that all these stores only kept the latest novels on their shelves, at least when it came to the good stuff, the stuff that not absolutely everyone that had read THE DA VINCI CODE knew about.

Then I stumbled upon Abbey's.

Hidden in the heart of the city of Sydney, tucked in a street behind the Queen Victoria Building, Abbey's was a bookstore that specialised in language books or history or non-fiction. But not crime. Turned out I was dead wrong. They had it all.

First thing I did was look into this Bruen bloke. Got hold of a copy of THE GUARDS. Grabbed a Willeford too, something about custard and sharks. Took the books home, had trouble tossing up between the two. Something about the idea of custard and sharks was immensely appealing. But I opened up THE GUARDS and flicked through the publishing credits and such. Then I read the first page.

I was hooked.

But that thing that he did with the one word paragraphs was gimmicky.

Unnecessary.

Cheap.

Still, the rhythm of the writing was pure, flowing like nectar across my eyes. I was pulled into Jack Taylor's world, and I was pulled in deep. There in the bar next to him, I smelled the decade's old stains of smoke, booze, vomit. I felt his stress, wanted a release myself. Wouldn't have minded to have a drink and then just keep going till I hit oblivion.

I had to pull out. Pull back from his world. In time, I finished the book. Just took it slower than before. Bruen's words were an aged liquor that needed to be savoured, not devoured in one sitting with a splash of Coke.

But something about the book bugged me. Maybe it reminded me too much of the times I had to drag my dad out of the pub, when I should have been at home watching The Greatest American Hero or The A-Team. Yeah, I think that was it. But it wasn't long before I felt the taste for more. Went back to Abbey's, hands shaking, eyes darting. My addiction was writ huge across my face. Grabbed a copy of THE KILLING OF THE TINKERS.

This book was different.

Same rhythms, same paragraphs, but now it felt right. Like I was meant to be doing it all along, reading books like this. Bruen had me programmed now. Brainwashed. And I loved it.

Now I've read THE MAGDALEN MARTYRS and RILKE ON BLACK. Got copies of BUST and HER LAST CALL TO LOUIS MACNEICE in waiting, and I'm itching to get my grubby hands on THE DRAMATIST. I hear it's even better than THE KILLING OF THE TINKERS. And don't get me started on THE PRIEST or AMERICAN SKIN. I have to drag this stuff out. If I don't, I'll be left with nothing.

What'll I do then?