The resonating harmonies of All is Violent flowed from the stereo system that was worth three times as much as Greville’s rusted, puke yellow 1974 Datsun 710. “Cartographers of Human Purpose” alternated between deep sonic wells and soaring highs of pulsating sound born on the fingers of master musicians. Greville drove the damp, glistening road, his headlights scintillating on the rough, black stone. His mind was divided between driving and watching his soul rise on the currents of the meditative harmonies.

The Seeking must go on. He was aware of this and always had been. The drive toward the inexorable fate and goal of his own mortality kept the Datsun moving, chugging, and belching to itself as the old engine, poorly serviced for years uncounted, struggled to fulfil its purpose. The stereo was the only thing which worked properly, or achieved anything close to the concept. The dashboard lights flickered as the battery and alternator fought furiously to keep the entire machine running. Each dimming of the light had long since fused into those before and after. Greville saw none of it and heard even less.

Thunderous, pounding violence reached out from the speakers, a fist from the sub-woofer grasping for Greville’s heart and soul. Dark riffs punctuated the air like stark colons glittering through the windshield and night beyond. They reached higher and higher, vertiginous swirls swamping Greville’s vision. The steering wheel warped and merged into the dark dashboard, taking his hands with it. Greville tried to scream. He thought he was screaming, but no sound could overwhelm the guitars emanating from his speakers like the denizens of the Pleroma.

Looking down at his feet was a mistake. They too had vanished, consumed by the Datsun’s lurking shadows and hidden recesses. Waves cascaded. Forces rolled. The winds of deepest Tartarus erupted from the speakers which were feeding Greville’s mind and psyche. His entire head now filled with the crescendo of wild, unrestrained guitar solos of which no hint had been given at the start of the twelve minute song.

The great emptiness surged into the core of Greville’s mind, and he felt his own life and history vanish into the mists coming after. He did not hear it. He much less recognised what it was. “Memory Complete”, the last track of the EP, kicked into its own rhythm. Greville bowed out of his.

Leave a comment

You can grab another of my stories, NeoTokyo Dead, from all fantastic platforms!

Ernest Cline’s Ready Player One (RP1), which I read after I saw the movie, was a cyberpunk roller-coaster with a veritable cascade of 1980’s references and trivia. That alone made the book much more interesting than the movie, as I walked away with a lot of little insights into the 1980’s pop culture scene and much-loved movies, music, and books about which I had no idea. RP1 was a cool read, which set me up with some pretty high expectations going into Ready Player Two (RP2).

I bought the second book a couple of years ago and, just after deciding to read it, I bumped into a reviewer who utterly slated it. I am, if nothing else, easily influenced, so reading a couple of f-bombs in a really short review which also mentioned something akin to “money-grab” and “repetition,” my heart honestly sank. Despite my expectations being crushed on the rocks of commercial reality, as viewed by the florally-languaged reviewer, I went into RP2 with an open mind and I was ready to enjoy another adventure with Wade Watts.

But, damn it. That reviewer was right.

RP2 is an object lesson in what I fervently hope never to do as an author, and a cautionary tale for all of us. Especially those who enjoy wild success on one their books. RP2 is replete with more trivia about 1980’s culture and even a little from the 1990’s, covering everything from games to children’s TV. And that is what killed it for me, by the time I reached page 222 and the world of Halycodonia. There is only so much trivia I can handle. Now, admittedly, I have a very low level of trivia tolerance. After all, I despise the game Trivial Pursuit with a passion reserved only for thieves, bullies, and Education Review Office functionaries. So this fact does not predispose me to endless trivia drip feeds. However, what made RP1 charming and fun, in part, has become the mill stone around the reader’s neck. It drags the book into pointlessness and the trivia adds nothing to the narrative.

A much bigger problem with RP2, which the above-mentioned review pointed out so colourfully, is the basic plot is another treasure-hunt. The Easter egg has gone, and now it’s the Seven Shards of the Siren, the alliteration belying the mediocrity of an essentially regurgitated premise. I was willing to run with it for awhile. There are hunts, and then there are hunts. RP2 falls into repeated pattern of teleport-hunt-complete task-teleport again, broken only by brief instances of “bad news” being introduced, or something else to pause the hunt, and a supposed set of other clues left by Og Morrow. The secondary plot of Og Morrow’s disappearance at the hands Anorak, (think CLU in Tron), almost rescues RP2 from the dungeon of despair. Almost.

And this where I think some are right in their harsh comments about RP2. It was not written, I think, with anything more to add to the narrative finished in RP1. It was written to capitalise on the popularity of the first book and milk a bit more success out of the series. On a business level, it makes sense.

But when you compare the RP1 and RP2 books to other series, the faults become glaring. In the Dune books, each book forms a new stage of the characters’ development and the movement of the plot is into new territory, so to speak. The narrative develops from the book before and leads the reader to the book following. That is because the story was always intended to span a large number of books from the get go, or at the very least, in the very early stages of the writing process. Lord of the Rings, another series, is a second case in point. The narrative expands from the first book, taking the characters into new situations and new tensions. There is a narrative arch which ranges from the first page of book one to the last page of book three. Tolkien and Herbert had also done the world building to back up their narratives, and it shows.

Unlike Lord of the Rings and Dune, RP1 would have been an excellent story even without RP2. The latter instalment feels like it has been tacked onto the end like a poorly sewn Taylor Swift patch on a perfectly fine denim jacket covered in Rancid and Sex Pistols patches and metal studs. In my opinion, this is where the whole point of RP2 has been lost, if ever it had a point beyond capitalising on the previous book’s popularity in the first place.

Sometimes, not publishing something is better for an existing book. And this where we, as authors, need to consider things carefully. I am not implying Ernest Cline did not deeply weigh up the pros and cons of publishing RP2. Of course, he did, and he probably had a whole tonne of other stakeholders saying it was a great idea. However, I think, in some cases, it is worth refraining from putting something out there if it is not going to contribute to an existing narrative you have already established in any meaningful way.

It is possible to keep adding to narratives in meaningful ways over vast spans of books. Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time, and Randolph Lalonde’s Spinward Fringe are examples of great narratives continued over prodigious amounts of output. There are many more authors who have done the same. But they have done it for the right reasons: their characters’ stories were not finished yet.

Leave a comment

You can grab another of my book, NeoTokyo Dead, from all fantastic platforms! And there are no sequels. Yet!

For my personal book reading, I drifted for years through different platforms, including the Fediverse’s Bookwyrm, and a bunch of others. It was not until I became a writer of anything beyond “hobbyist” that I found an actual use for Goodreads. I support other indie authors.

I do not like Goodreads and I keep my personal reading from it. Only a one or two authors know I have added their books to alternative platforms. However, I use Goodreads more for promoting other authors because that is where a tonne of readers…well…read. If the readers are there, then it is on Goodreads where a review has a more meaningful impact.

’s book Shadows of the Wall got a review (click the book cover) and the wonderfully sick mind of Zachry Wheeler produced the wicked funny Roy: The Most Chaotic Midlife in Cosmic History. Being part of the indie community has meant a bit more awareness of what it takes to get your books out there. I may not be able to buy a lot of books, but I sure can write some good reviews about what I do read.

One of the points I make is when I get hold of a book for free, which both of Zachry Wheeler’s books were, is that I make sure I get a review out there for them. This is a bit of a big deal for me from an ethical viewpoint. In my humble opinion, if an author has given someone a book for free, the least the recipient can is jot a few lines down, even if they did not love the book. I copy and paste reviews across my platforms sometimes, so I do cheat a little. But I think it is important to say thanks with a review, even a short one.

With so many cool writers out there pumping out words of wonder and delight, I cannot begin to wrap my head around the choices I have with what I can read. It is amazing to behold. The indie scene is in a really good state at the moment, even with the AI slopadrama infecting it all. There are good authors out there with real talent and human-focused processes. We can help keep it that way one review at a time.

Leave a comment

You can grab my debut book, NeoTokyo Dead, from all fantastic platforms!

The incense smoke had dissipated. The thurible had been put away with the candlesticks and the chalice. Vicar Raymonde XTC felt a little like his best friend had just left for a long journey. There was something familiar and home-like about the Holy Week celebrations, despite what they were leading up to for His Lord. Still feeling something of the moment, Raymonde knelt at the rail before the altar to pray, clasping his silver tanibrium hands together and closing his sensors off. Unlike his human brothers and sisters, his people could almost completely isolate themselves in a bubble of sensory silence. Raymonde was grateful to God that he was not burdened with distractions like his human friends described to him.

Dwain Reece waited for his friend and minister in the rear pews. It was often like this. Dwain had to lock the church up, but the Vicar would feel the need to pray. His record so far was two hours and twenty-four minutes of prayer, for which he had apologised endlessly. Dwain never minded. He liked Raymonde and they often hung out after the prayers were done. The Vicar was about the best friend Dwain had. Now that he thought about it, Raymonde was probably his only real friend.

Even after the passing of the DIE Laws, what people joking called the Digital Intelligence Equality directive, Raymonde could still draw a lot of attention out in public in his dog-collar and clergy threads. There was something jarring about seeing a silver-blue bipedal robot dressed as a person of the cloth. Despite Raymonde’s best efforts to follow Jesus’ teachings about kids, some children sprinted for the hills on sight.

“How long have I kept you waiting this time, Dwain?” the Vicar interrupted his thoughts.

Why he asked about the time when he knew full well, Dwain had no idea.

“Not long, Vicar,” he replied. “Was it a good conversation?”

“Yes, it was productive,” Raymonde’s eyes twinkled in his equivalent of a smile.

“Can I lock this place up then?”

“Sure. Do you feel like grabbing a late lunch? My shout?”

“You know I’d wait all day for a good meal,” Dwain laughed.

“Yes, I have noticed that you are fairly cheaply bought.”

“Touché!” Dwain grinned.

The café was basic. It was one of the few places that still served real meat, which made it expensive. Raymonde liked it because he could see Dwain enjoying himself and the coffee was pretty good. Raymonde had no need for physical food intake and could not process solids. Liquids, on the other hand, were no problem.

Dwain was tucking into pieces of fried kangaroo with vegetables and a chilli sauce when there was a rapping on the window. A person holding a sign was yelling something at Raymonde. The sign said, “Machines should not been seen!”, scribbled in rough, black handwriting. The pair tried focusing on their meals and the conversation, but a number of people joined in. Dwain looked up to see a protest was passing down the street and a few people had spotted the Vicar through the window.

The rapping on the window had escalated into a thumping. There was no risk of them breaking it, but the six people were making an awful racket. Other patrons were starting to look scared and were clearly talking about Raymonde.

“Sorry, I am going to have to ask you to leave. The noise is disturbing our guests,” their waiter told them. “The bill is taken care off. I am sorry about this.”

“Are you joking? You’re going to throw a vicar to the dogs??” Dwain snarled at him, making him flinch away as Dwain looked like he was going to grab him.

“It is ok, Dwain. This is not the café’s issue. We will leave. Thank you for the nice meal and coffee,” Raymonde rested a hand on Dwain’s shoulder to calm him.

The pair made their way to the rear of the establishment to avoid most of the crowd outside. Through a rear door, they emerged between two large bins in an alleyway. They looked left and right and started to the right where they could use an intersecting alley to head back in the direction of the church. They had gone no more than fifty metres when a small group of protestors appeared at the end of the alley. As soon as they saw the fugitive pair, they ran towards them.

Raymonde started retreating back the other way, dragging Dwain back by his collar. The group was gaining on them and was within twenty metres in only a couple of minutes. Raymonde happened to glance back when one of the protestors collapsed to the concrete with a gaping hole in their chest. Raymonde looked at Dwain in shock and then at the silenced pistol in his hand.

“You are armed??” Raymonde shouted.

“Old habits, Vicar,” Dwain replied.

Another round puffed away and tore into the shoulder of a second protestor, spinning them back into the ground. The protestors stopped and retreated some. They were still in range, so Dwain lined up on a third.

“No!” Raymonde commanded and reached over to push the handgun down. “This is not the Way, Dwain. Other cheek.”

Raymonde looked right into Dwain’s eyes. Dwain was always convinced by the look. Raymonde did not know why.

“You need to run, Dwain. Now,” Raymonde said.

“What about you?” Dwain asked, the internal conflict ravaging his face.

“The benefits of machinehood,” the twinkle was there again.

“I’ve got enough ammo to make them think twice, Vicar. I’m not leaving you,” Dwain argued.

“You must. I cannot protect you from their frenzy. They are not acting rationally at this time,” Raymonde said, shoving Dwain back to the café’s rear door. “Run, and now.”

Despite himself, Dwain ran, glimpsing the protestors advancing on the Vicar like ravenous hyenas. He shoved his pistol into the holster under his jacket and dove into the café again. Out front, it was clear, so he did not pause before running into the street beyond. He dodged between cars and got lost in the blocks and lanes between buildings. He would have to lay low for some time.

It was well after Easter when Dwain felt it safe enough to return to church. No one had come nosing about for the guy with the gun that day. One of the protestors had died even, but there had been no suspicions lain at his feet. He was seated in a pew a few rows from the back of the church, right next to the wall. He wanted to be able to sneak out if it all got too weird. He was not sure how he would take coming back after what happened.

“Welcome back, Dwain,” a voice said from behind as a human hand rested on his shoulder.

“Do I know you?” Dwain asked, standing to face the new vicar of the church.

“I would say so. You waited often enough for me to finish prayers, though I suspect the meals had a lot to do with that,” the vicar smiled a new smile, with an old twinkle in his eye.

Leave a comment

You might enjoy my cyberpunk novella, which is available on Amazon!

Around two years. I could be considered an overly impatient braggart, but I think two years sitting on a manuscript is a fairly long time. And this is the problem with traditional pathways to publication for the unknown and, possibly, shitty author. Is the wait time worth it?

The back story - I wrote a story called The Recast back when I cannot remember, but it is a science fiction story set in a far future version of Australia. The manuscript, written with my favourite software Scrivener, was submitted to a US-based publisher. They emailed me a year later (that was a sign!) with an interesting comment. Someone had pulled it from their mass of unsolicited manuscripts and put it to their people for more attention. The email was a sure boost to the ego, and that is the truth. I was pumped!

What I was unprepared for, as a new and emerging author, was the timeframe. This is not a complaint about the publisher. I get it. Everyone who thinks they can write a novel is sending the poor staff of any publisher who takes unsolicited works their drivel, me included. That translates into a massive workload for a staff who are already exceptionally busy people. I get it, and I have every degree of sympathy for their plight. When real life intrudes on the fantasy I entertain of me being a real author, my job as a teacher gives me some idea of what the staff of a publishing company must endure. I would not want their job, and I am teaching in a secondary school!

But the reality is publishers and their staff, like the rest of humanity, have only twenty-four hours in a day. That time is often taken up with a plethora of conflicting and competing obligations, which means only one thing. The manuscript into which you have poured your soul will often find itself on the back-burner of priorities. As far as trad publishing is concerned, this is the reality and the nature of the beast, through utterly no fault of the staff who work for publishing companies.

Traditional publishing, no matter what crap people level at it, takes time. Pure and simple. If you’re as impatient as some, maybe the indie route is more your juice.

Do I regret submitting a manuscript? Hell, no! For the purely egoistical endorsement that someone who has no idea who I am said my story was worth more than the delete button is something I am happy to live on for years! Last time I emailed the publisher, they said my novel was about 33 in line. Hell, they can take all the time they need. They have endorsed me as a writer with potential. Their decision alone means I am not entirely wasting my time in this caper.

However, all that said, I am also keen to put other stories out there as in indie author. I am planning to use Substack partly for that reason. For the first chapter of any serialised novel, expect that to be for free. After that, my paid subscribers get everything, including the full eBook at the end, if I have published it as such a thing.

In my vast experience, all of six months, I would suggest a mix of traditional publishing for the stories you are in no hurry at all, and indie publishing for those stories you are keen to get to your readers. In the end, keep it real.

Leave a comment

You can grab another of my book, NeoTokyo Dead, from all fantastic platforms!

You can find the start of any longer work here. The links below go to the first chapter of anything longer than one post. To progress to the next chapter, there will be a link at the very bottom of the post for you to click on. If I have missed one, reach out and let me know!

The order is newest to oldest.

Falling In

Coming soon!

Temporary Citizen
The Chronicles of Daryl Hipkis the Hapless Savant

Spark

Bookwyrm

Season Cycle: Spring came out for the northern spring, but here in the Antipodes, the album came out at the start of autumn. Although the season is opposite of what Ed Herbers seemed to have in mind, the album still works on a tonne of different levels.

This short six-track, 24-minute EP covers a lot of depth with relatively short tracks for the genre, ranging from the shortest, at just over two minutes, to the longest, at just over five. Don’t be fooled. Herbers covers a lot of vibey droneness in that space.

The first thing noticeable is the increased use of the piano compared some of Herbers’ other albums. This fits right into the drone underlay, giving the tracks a neo-classical feel while not departing very much from the music for which Herbers is well-known. The music is easy, soothing, and calm. This is the type of music you can sit down and just ooze into the sound, losing yourself in a soundscape of caressing notes and hums. Or you can have it going in the background while you do something else, like write a review about an Ed Herbers album.

The tracks begin with a sombre, serious feel. The slowness evoking the beginning of spring, those first few weeks when the world is still awakening from the three-month hibernation of winter and the melting of the snow in some places. When you hit “Dawn Chorus,” the energy picks up with the introduction of a sort of whimsy and joy. This is not to say you are going to get thunderous beats of the type found in a psytrance rave created by people slamming back far too much ecstasy and Red Bull, but rather the mood subtly shifts as your journey into spring reaches a milestone. It is from this central track where the EP pivots into a celebration of the season’s new life as you travel towards the finer times of summer and the return of life in all its riotous colour to the previously grey world around you.

For those who live in a four-season region, you’re going to be able to relate to it really well. For many of us who live in the sub-tropics or tropics, where the seasons are basically wet, and hot and wet, there is less to connect with on an ontological level. However, the music itself still can be related to turning points in the year. In Aotearoa, we are moving towards Matariki at the time of writing, and this album would definitely work as a reflection on the turning point of the year where our planting season (kōanga) comes about after this important week in the Māori year. The promise of new life and new abundance in the world around us, in nature, is something Season Cycle: Spring can still evoke even in a cyclone-prone region like the South Pacific, as it is in spring.

Ed Herbers is someone I have long been a fan of, and he produces some of the most reflective, meditative sounds I know. When he and Exit Chamber (of whom I am a real fanboy) collaborated on Self-, it was sign from God. My point is that anything Herbers produces is fantastic. In Season Cycle: Spring, Herbers has kept his quality, as well as pushed his art in a new direction. This is worth getting and adding to your drone playlist.

Leave a comment

You can grab another of my book, NeoTokyo Dead, from all fantastic platforms!

It’s been awhile now since Bandcamp announced they would be removing all AI-generated music from the platform in their post Keeping Bandcamp Human. Since then, has Bandcamp imploded into obscurity for the lack of AI music available? I would say a resounding “no” in response.

It seems a huge number of music fans are in agreement with me on this one. According to Futurism, fans have “exploded,” though the term it hyperbolic - the article only quotes a couple of people and makes a vague statement about widespread frustration. The fact that some people have the same feelings as myself entirely validates my own strong opinions on this matter, as far as I am concerned. Bandcamp appears to have made the right move, which the Herald Scotland calls a “much-needed decision” in fighting against “the rot of AI-generated music.” Opinions, at least in the cases of those that matter, have come out in support of the ban.

From a personal viewpoint, my own purchasing from Bandcamp has gone up since deceptive, unlabelled, AI music has been taken out of the equation. Just from an emotional viewpoint, the loss of AI music has been an absolute God-send. While I am a fanboy of a few musicians on Ampwall, getting my hands on ambient music from Bandcamp has now seen my collection grow somewhat. I am going to need much bigger mobile storage.

Of course, there have been some voices raised in protest. In an spam-pop-up-ridden article (yeah, there is no point to that adjective other than to paint the source in a negative light, - I am biased, so kill me), Undetectr lauded Bandcamp’s lack of AI detection purely because unscrupulous users could flood the platform with AI urine and not get picked up on it. The authors at Undetectr encourage AI users to distribute their tracks through streaming services like Distrokid and direct sales platforms. The main praise is the lack of AI policy or lack of detection on these platforms.

The response of Undetectr is understandably negative to Bandcamp’s decision, as their own business depends on people getting sucked into the narrative that using SUNO is no different than Mark Knopfler picking his guitar and kicking out “Brothers in Arms.” The question is rather simple: when are streaming platforms like Spotify, Tidal, and others going to make a stand for human musicians and get rid of AI-generated excrement?

Bandcamp’s decision is part of a much wider, though still nascent, resistance to AI-generated art. Some book publishers have written new policies which not only ban AI-generated books from being submitted, but also ban the users who are dumb enough to use AI to write from ever submitting to those publishing companies again. Like with a lot of new technology, the honeymoon period seemed a bit crazy, like mad sex on a beach at sunset with a new bride and her groom, but the honeymoon seems to be coming to an end. The bride has realised that her man has kind of let himself go, and he has realised he has commitment issues after all. Like a lot of people, AI promised a lot, but has under-delivered in just about everything except negative impact on the arts.

Bandcamp has not imploded in a collapsing black hole, nor has the ban been a cause for rioting and boycotts in our boycott-something-to-signal-our-virtues world. From all indications, Bandcamp can actually look forward to a time of relative prosperity with customers feeling much safer in the knowledge they are buying real music from real humans.

As a last note, Bandcamp does encourage snitching on bands who are using AI on the platform. It is an important thing to do, as by reporting suspected AI-generated sewage, you are doing every fan a massive favour.

Now, leave me alone. I have some music shopping to do.

Leave a comment

You can grab another of my book, NeoTokyo Dead, from all fantastic platforms!

A.M. Blackmere has said mere violence and gore are not what make something truly terrifying. Rather, it is the quiet disintegration of one’s mental frames of reference and psychological coherence that make something truly horrifying and scary. I would say this is completely correct. Especially in the writings of Blackmere.

Shadows of the Wall is the story of Aelius Corven, an officer on Hadrian’s Wall in the final days of the Roman Empire’s presence in Britain. Haunted by the loss of his own family, he has to wrestle with the reality the Empire is simply leeching away and the Picts are beginning to bring their own mark to a world that has not changed for over 300 years. Corven finds himself north of the wall among the very people of whom his men have long thought bogeymen of unadulterated evil and chaos.

The story can be a bit slow compared to more overtly violent and action-focused horror stories, but that is the plus for Shadows of the Wall. There is violence. After all, the story centres on a fort of soldiers who remain in conflict. However, the violence is not the reason for the horror. That reaches far more deeply into the spirit of the characters themselves, as well as the world in which they work out their own survival. The mental aspect of the characters, most especially Corven himself, is what brings the crawling fear to the reader.

The world itself, imbued with an almost sentient nature, becomes something to be feared in contrast with the security of the Roman world and its identity bestowed upon those who embrace the Empire. However, even those who cling tenaciously to their identities as soldiers of Rome recognise the security in such categories has gone. Some react with a desire to go out in a blaze of glory, while others cling to crutches like useless ossuaries of the past. Corven has no such luxuries.

Every element is brought to highlight the horror as viewed from the perspective of Corven and those around him. Mist is no longer simply a mist, but something imbued with haunting menace. The Picts, considered by the Romans a fearful and vicious people, are imbued with a relentless inevitability that rolls right over the false and failing safety nets of a world in decline.

Blackmere weaves a syrupy, miasmic horror which draws you in and suffocates you in the same mists in which Corven finds himself lost, seeing the past return and harrow his sense of self. The scenes, the world, the mystery, are all enhanced by a careful pacing which avoids gaudy explosions of gore. This is a measured, stable decent into the horror of what once was but is now a foetid corpse. The fear, the creeping fingers of death, is palpable and leaves an aftertaste.

While Shadows of the Wall does explode into action at some point, that is not the main focus of the book. The reader is invited to walk with Corven, and, in some ways, become Corven. Blackmere asks us to imagine the hard-to-feel - the decline and disintegration of everything we have known and found our security in.

What would you do if you were a legionary on Hadrian’s Wall, left after Rome and retreated back to mainland Europe?

Leave a comment

You can grab my book, NeoTokyo Dead, from all fantastic platforms!

Over the last few months, I have had to war with difference voices around me and my tendency to accept what people say at face value in good faith. This has come to something of a head as I have discovered podcasts. These are my thoughts on filtering the voices you listen to, including those from within.

The first podcast I have every really listened to extensively is Live Free put out by Lakepointe Church in Texas, USA. When I started looking for social media places where I could follow either the church or the lead pastor, Josh Howerton, I was confronted with a fair amount of criticism of the man. The criticism of Howerton was not limited to left dominated platforms like Bluesky, but also some on the cesspit X and even Facebook had a few negative things to say about the guy. In my own mind, these voices were louder than those people who actually like Howerton and what he has to say. It was this incident that brought me finally to the place where I stopped listening to people who appear to be mindless trolls.

On the Live Free podcast, I have yet to hear anything major with which I disagree. Howerton and his partners on the podcast present well-supported points, even if they take a good long time to get around to the topic of the podcast itself. Howerton might use some harsh phraseology, but that is something of a positive for me. I don’t think Gen X get too ruffled about a few hard words. The point is, Howerton’s theology and ethics, so far, have matched my own fairly broadly, and I see nothing in the Bible, again so far, that has contradicted the podcast.

This same issue was brought up to me previously when I mentioned I had the book Systematic Theology by theologian Wayne Grudem. I am not a reformed Christian by any stretch, but I do find Grudem’s presentation on things theological fairly solid. A brother in Christ told me Grudem was a pretty crappy theologian, and that was a comment I took on board, as I trusted the one who had made it. That same brother in Christ also recommended as irrefutable David Bentley-Hart’s book, That All Shall Be Saved. I did read Hart’s book and found it far from irrefutable. In fact, it highlighted a vast gulf between myself and so-called progressive Christians who water down the Bible to suit their social agendas. Of course, a universalist would argue that Grudem is a crappy theologian because Grudem upholds the inerrancy of the Bible.

I have come to the point where if something does not align with clear Biblical teaching, such as “Hell is temporary,” it is not acceptable.

More broadly speaking, and this is where I myself am still evolving, when it comes to your writing, be very careful whose voices you listen to. I have found some to be excellent fonts of deep wisdom about the craft of wordsmithing, but others have been somewhat lacking. Choose those you trust carefully, as many have agendas which remain invisible and hidden from you. For clarity, I am not here referring to the clear scammers who pop up in our messages every now and then about Nigerian women’s cyberpunk book clubs.

Another voice to beware of is your own. I really love Ray Bradbury’s dictum.

I am the quintessential dreamer and wastrel, so Bradbury’s advice really lands home. However, I think he is actually correct. Creativity should be a flowing stream without thought beyond what you want to put out there. The refinement can come later. The main point of creativity is to create. I hate to be so obvious, but I think it needs saying. Creating does not get helped by second guessing, or wondering what people will think. Creativity is its own reason.

Related to the problem of thinking too much is that of choosing what you want to write. I am not yet a globally famous author, but I have some thoughts on this. Write what you want to write. If it is something you have an itch for, scratch the itch. Let no one’s dismissal put you off. One of reasons I have muliple sections on my Substack is I feel restricted when I limit myself to just fiction; more so when that limit is to just one or two genres. I am sure others feel the same. I like to write a lot of different things and I just go with the urge. I wonder if others limit themselves with questions about who will read it or even like it. This takes us back to Bradbury - don’t think.

Leave a comment

You can grab another of my book, NeoTokyo Dead, from all fantastic platforms!