what rhymes with chaos?

Can you hate the artist but love their art?

I have a conundrum, my dotcomrades. I recently read a post by one of my writing heroes that made me want to transform his body of work into a paper-mache sculpture of his own severed head. Frank Miller’s work has been an inspiration to me ever since I was a kid. His work on graphic novels like Sin City is nothing short of legendary. Miller was among the forefront of writers in the 1980s that convinced wider audiences that comic books weren’t solely a medium for brightly coloured, cliché-ridden characters. His work demonstrated that comics could be an excellent medium for communicating gritty, grisly stories. 

"You know what makes me mad? When people think I am a graphic novel adaptation of that quirky 90s sitcom 'Spin City.'"

However, around a week ago, Miller wrote this post discussing his opposition to the occupy movement. Fair enough, everyone’s got a right to their opinion. But he then proceeds to call them ‘louts’ ‘thieves’, ‘rapists’ and ‘pond scum’ and furthermore make the insane argument that because ‘America is at war with Islamicism’ then all other struggle is basically a waste of time. It’s one thing to disagree with a political movement, but to so hatefully vilify them and then start making insane Islamophobic connections is quite another. I mean, I'm strongly opposed to the values of the American Tea Party movement, but I'm not going to go around addressing them with awful and unjustified slurs. Particularly when they are weird and crazy enough to embarrass themselves on their own without needing my help. 

 

"Yeah! Cut funding to education! Who needs it?"

I now look at Miller's work with a feeling that I would describe as a combination of 'cute little puppies being shoved in a blender' and 'listening to Duck Sauce's Barbara Streisand on repeat for 36 hours.' Is it really possible to enjoy the output of an artist, which is an indubitably brilliant collection of work, whilst hating its creator who, according to recent evidence, is something of a fuckwit?

I’m reminded of a costume party I attended a few years ago when a Michael Jackson song came on the stereo and everyone proceeded to whoop and holler and dance around the living room until some girl ran towards the stereo yelling “NO! TURN THAT OFF! HE IS A PAEDOPHILE!” I have to be honest, she seemed a little crazy, and not only because of the Britney Spears costume she was wearing. A bunch of people turned to her and said, "Relax, it's just a song!" But maybe she had a point. Lately I feel like that girl dressed as Britney Spears. And not in a closet cross-dressing kind of way. 

There are plenty of other examples. Bill Murray, famous for both his extraordinary body of work and his idiosyncratic approach to the movie industry (he doesn’t have an agent, manager or email) has a record of domestic violence. Jack Kerouac was infamously racist, the Nobel prize winning author V.S. Naipul recently made some insanely sexist remarks and James Brown also had a history of domestic abuse. You can see him drunkenly-sort-of-half-denying-it-in-between-singing-his-own-songs-and-wearing weird-giant-yellow-glasses here:

  

I'm not able to separate the art from the artist. Every time someone puts on 'Papa's Got a Brand New Bag' a part of me lights up and wants to dance whilst my guilt complex simultaneously kicks into overdrive. I feel like I'm placing one hand on the world's largest diamond and the other in the hand of a rabid crocodile (crocodiles can get rabies, right?) What about you, residents of internetland? Can you happily sing along to Wonderwall despite the fact that Liam Gallagher is a pretentious, arrogant git? I'd love to hear your thoughts (just not the really weird ones, even I have my limits).

In conclusion: seriously Frank, what the fuck. 

 

The String Bridge is a thing that you should acquire post-haste.

 

Dearest humans and computer literate apes of earth, I come with glad tidings! My friend and fellow 100 Stories for Queensland contributor, Jessica Bell, has just released her new book The String Bridge. Recent research indicates that acquiring this book will make you more attractive, intelligent and improve your bowling average by 23.5%.

The book is being released with a soundtrack written and performed by the author, which is pretty damn impressive if you ask me. You can get the soundtrack for FREE (my favourite price) if you purchase the book on November 11^th and email the receipt to jessica.carmen.bell(at) gmail(dot)com. I guess you could also just email her inspiring quotes, recipe ideas, and your top ten make out songs if you really wanted. Just don’t try adding her to any spam lists though because Jess is a poet and everyone knows poets are the toughest bastards around and she may just find a way to clip you over the ears via skype.  

 The String Bridge has received a bunch of rave reviews (by which I mean highly complimentary reviews, not people on pills listening to Underworld in brightly coloured clothing giving it the thumbs up) but you should read it yourself because you are smart enough to make your own opinion. 

You can get more info and check out Jess' blog here: http://thealliterativeallomorph.blogspot.com/ (she's pretty easy on the eyes, just quietly) and she has some great insights into the creative process. 

Alternatively, you could watch Zelda vs Ice Climbers.

 

Zeb and the Great Ruckus: coming at you like a rampaging bewilderbeast in 2012

You might recall a little over a year ago I posted that I had finished my children’s fantasy novel Zeb and the Great Ruckus, and went on to describe how it would transform your child into a ninja-scientist-guitar-soloing human rights champion. Well, it’s taken a while, but I have finally inked a publishing deal in order to bring this little beast out into the light. When I returned from an eight day trek across the Ladakhi range of the Himalayas a few months ago I found an email in my inbox informing me that I had been offered a deal with Odyssey Books (who also published Foley Russel and That Poor Girl by my friend Rebecca Bloomer).  

 



The email that informed me of the offer was sent via satellite to Leh, the prayer flag drenched capital of Ladakh, India, located 3500m above sea level. I received it whilst typing away drowned in the delightfully rousing aroma of yak-scented mountain gear. It was five years ago in that  same city, whilst sitting on the rooftop of a ramshackle hotel  and staring out at the Himalayas, that I began writing my first novel A Beginner’s Guide to Dying in India. Receiving this offer for my new book in that same city was a beautifully cyclical moment.

Here’s a brief synopsis: 

Zeb lives in the land of Bravura , where the oppressive Czar and his legion of Admonishers have outlawed art and music. The mystical Alephs, magical mouthless creatures that eat music with their ears, have long since disappeared into hiding.  When a letter from Zeb’s departed father urges him to seek out a legendary musician rumoured to be living somewhere deep in the forest, Zeb must set out with his best friend Flip to seek him out. Armed only with a ball of magic clay and a harmonica, Zeb and Flip face wolves, clockwork birds, an army of Admonishers and the bewilderbeast in their quest to find the lost musician and the Alephs and bring music back to Bravura.

As a teacher I got sick of reading stories to my students that were populated with saccharine characters, cheap wish fulfilment and 1950s values. 

I wanted to write the kind of book that makes kids shake their heads and articulately explain why they disagree instead of just nodding their heads when told to do so. 

I wanted to write a book that makes children appreciate the fact that art is not just a sprawling mass of pretty pictures and three-minute pop songs, but the most powerful communication tool in existence. 

I wanted to write a book that kids would read in their youth and return to in adulthood.

I wanted to write a book filled with explosions, clockwork birds, steel guitars and vats of weaponised toffee.

 

        +           +       =  ZEB

 

Zeb and the Great Ruckus is that book. It’ll be in stores sometime in 2012, which, according to various sources, may well be the end of the world. So at least you’ll have something fun to read during the Apocalypse.

 

Eighty Nine now available everywhere and everywhen

 



My contribution (as well as the other stories) from the Eighty Nine literary mixtapes anthology are now online. You can read them for free here, (you cheapskates), and then purchase a copy from the site or amazon if you want to hold it in your hot little hands. 

The writers participating in this anthology were each given a song from 1989 and instructed to link it to a historical event from that year and write a speculative fiction story. I'm not kidding, this was the best prompt I have ever been given. You can read reviews and such on goodreads here if you like to have other people form your opinions for you. Personally I just use an Indian outsourcing service. 

"Hey Krishna, what did I think of the new Ian McEwan book? Overly verbose huh? Self-indulgent pompous tripe? Well, sounds a bit harsh, but okay, if you say so..."

Ball Park Music review (for Rave Magazine)



 

View and comment on this article on the Rave website HERE. 

Ball Park Music / Northeast Party House / The Jungle Giants

The Zoo - Sat Oct 15 The Jungle Giants open proceedings by serving up a sonic selection of fun and friendly guitar pop that is summery enough to convince an Eskimo to invest in a pair of board-shorts and a badminton set. Next, six-piece dance rock outfit Northeast Party House unleash a swathe of thick fuzz bass-lines and twin guitars drenched in delay. Some of their songs are uncomfortably reminiscent of Bloc Party, but the second half of their set reveals some original material that really lifts the roof. If these guys aren’t huge in the near future, I’ll eat my hat. Of course, my hat is a novelty hat constructed from nachos, but nevertheless… Ball Park Music greet a rapturous crowd by opening with Literally Baby, the first track from their recently released debut album, before segueing straight into Rich People Are Stupid and then announcing, “Hi Everybody, we’re The Jezabels.” At the end of their first five minutes on stage tonight they’ve already displayed an impressive mix of skilled musical performance and ridiculous humour. By the time they hit All I Want Is You the crowd is more than ready to participate in a good ol’ fashioned clap-along, which is followed shortly thereafter by a trombone-led cover of Marilyn Manson’s Beautiful People. Throughout their set BPM give the impression that they are having even more fun than the crowd, (if that’s even possible). The band closes with the obscenely infectious iFly, Sam Cromack deciding to conclude a consistently brilliant evening by pouring a bottle of red wine on the crowd. It’s the kind of move that would be career suicide in any other line of work. Tonight, however, it seems nothing but appropriate. JOSH DONELLAN

 

Australian Poetry Slam review for Rave Magazine

Taken from Rave magazine 11/10/2011. View the original article at the Rave site here.  INFORMER ARTS: Australian Poetry Slam 2011

TUESDAY, 11 OCTOBER 2011

JOSH DONELLAN reviews The Queensland Finals of the AUSTRALIAN POETRY SLAM. If you ever needed proof that the library is the coolest place in the known universe to hang out on a Friday night, then here it is. Yeah, that’s right, the library. You know, the place where they keep those collections of squashed dead trees covered in ink that people used to look at before they invented the Internet? That place. The State Library tonight hosts a multifarious crowd (hipsters, hippies, suits, hip hop heads) that is outdone only be the diversity of the performers. Tonight’s poetry slam finalists are gathered from all over Queensland and represent sufficiently varying demographics wide enough to cause a marketing consultant to need a quick lie down and a sip of fashionably overpriced bottled water. Hostess Tessa Leon exudes enough charm and energy to power a small village as she introduces the first of three rounds of finalists to a warm and receptive audience. The first portion of the evening sees a few slightly nervous performers take the stage, primarily favouring traditional ABAB rhyme schemes and sweating a little in front of the spotlight. It’s not until the final performer of this round, Anaua M., steps up and unleashes a rapid-fire verbal assault that things get really interesting. His blistering analysis of social and political issues is the first in an array of jaw-droppingly good performances. Following the first act, Ghostboy With Golden Virtues step onto the stage and begin an action that could be more correctly described as large-scale aural seduction rather than performance. Using an impressive array of instruments the band weave a series of stories over dark sonic landscapes. They certainly aren’t everyone’s cup of tea, but if you like your tea drenched with hallucinogen then this is a band that will keep you wanting more. Ghostboy spends perhaps more time off the stage than on it, stealing hats, performing lascivious dances and generally causing marvellous mischief. The second round of performers are potently impressive, perhaps the best single line of the evening belongs toCandy B, who proclaims: “I too have thought / ‘your body is wrong and the pants are right’ / do not believe the hype.” Darkwing Dub’s yelled ‘maximalist’ piece takes the cake as the most hilarious performance of the evening and Mark Lowndes’ vitriolic political poetry is artfully executed, resulting in an explosive round of applause.  Following a second set from Ghostboy With Golden Virtues the third and final round commences. Standout performances include 14 year-old Georgie, who takes the microphone with prodigious confidence and skill, as well as Mantist, who provides the most hip hop-influenced piece of the evening in the form of a clever dissection of modern materialism. Tessa announces tonight’s winners – Anaua M. (runner up) and Mark Lowndes (first place) – before an enraptured crowd disperses into the evening armed with poetry letters found in the bathroom and badges proclaiming ‘Bring Back The Art Of Seductive Conversation.’ The Queensland Finals of the AUSTRALIAN POETRY SLAM were held at the State Library of Qld on Friday Oct 7. www.australianpoetryslam.com

Eighty Nine now available for pre-order

The Eighty Nine anthology is now available for pre-order within Australia. This compilation features my contribution The Story Bridge, guaranteed to be the most hilarious sci fi story you'll read about attempted suicide all year. It is highly recommended that you purchase between 5 and 500 copies at your earliest convenience.

 

 

1989: a cusp between decades.

The year the Berlin Wall came down and Voyager went up. Ted Bundy and Emperor Hirohito died. The birth of the first Bush administration and computer virus.

In San Francisco and Newcastle the ground shook, in Chernobyl it melted. Tiananmen Square rocked the world and Tank Man imprinted on the international consciousness. Communism and Thatcherism began their decline, Islamic fundamentalism its rise.

It was the year Batman burst onto the big screen, we went back to the future (again) Indiana Jones made it a trifecta at the box office and Michael Damian told us to rock on.

Based on a play list of 26 songs released in 1989, Eighty Nine re-imagines the social, political, cultural and personal experiences at the end of the decade which gave the world mullets, crimped hair, neon-coloured clothing, acid-wash denim, keytars, the walkman, Live Aid, the first compact disc and MTV.

 

Rhinoceros in Love (reviewed for Rave magazine)

(view and comment on this review posted on the Rave magazine site HERE)   TUESDAY, 04 OCTOBER 2011 Rhinoceros In Love is quite possibly the best Chinese quasi-musical tragi-comedic love story featuring a rhino I have seen this year. Although the use of subtitles displayed on a narrow elevated screen sometimes made following dialogue difficult (and made the monolingual contingent of the audience resemble spectators at a vertically-oriented tennis match), this was unquestionably a captivating and idiosyncratic piece of work. The story follows a young Rhino keeper named Ma Lu who is frustrated by the restraints and compromises of conventional society and yearns for a life filled with love, passion and universal truth. The play eschews following a traditional narrative progression and instead alternates between a series of monologues, bizarre musical comedic interludes and dream-like sequences. Writer Liao Yimei has stated that the play is not intended to focus purely on story, but to act as a parable for the human spirit, the power of belief and the pursuit of dreams and ideals. Ma Lu becomes engaged in the relentless pursuit of the beautiful but infuriatingly fickle Ming Ming, who has sworn her love to another man who treats her cruelly and yet remains the unyielding focus of her romantic attention. Ma Lu, who possesses a supernaturally strong sense of smell, falls head over heels for “the girl who smells like photocopier.” While his friends try and convince him to join them in the pursuit of more easily attainable frivolous sexual conquests, Ma Lu remains resolutely focused on Ming Ming, delivering a series of poetic professions of love in the face of reason. A rhino forgets the grassland. A water bird forgets the river. A man in hell forgets heaven. A leg amputee forgets a brisk walk. To forget is what a normal person does. But I’ve decided…not to forget.  Rhinoceros alternates between these screamed supplications to the heavens and farcical comedic scenes featuring the larger cast. It is the play’s ability to successfully swing between these two disparate forms that allows Rhinoceros to escape becoming a cheap melodrama and instead present itself as an abstract examination of the human spirit in all its extremes. The hilariously entertaining ‘Love Tutorial’ scenes, where the characters learn how to express feelings through pop songs and Hollywood cliché, are performed with lively comedic panache. In an early scene, the character known as Toothbrush takes centre stage and eagerly exclaims, “Let us fly high in the skies of hygiene!” The lights of the third act open to a stage filled with water, before Ma Lu’s final monologue is delivered beneath a torrent of artificial rain, ending Rhinoceros In Love with a beautiful yet tragic final image. It a scene rendered all the more heart-wrenching by the girl in the next row who decides to snap a picture of it on her iPhone. Perhaps she should have avoided lighting up the seats around her and instead followed Ma Lu’s advice, deciding to never forget. JOSH DONELLAN

New York Limes best smelling author

Dearest Interwebs,

as you are probably aware, I am an author. An author is a bit like a politician in that we are paid money to make up lies, but an author does this extremely well for almost no money whereas a politician does this very badly for lots of money and sometimes a moat.

Like most authors, I have lofty dreams and ambitions, for the past five years these have included:

 

1 win literary awards 2 have a fan send me sexy photos 3 eat a whole pizza in one go. 4 get a job as a voice actor 5 BECOME A NEW YORK LIMES BEST SMELLING AUTHOR.

Having proudly accomplished the first four goals, I am now ready tackle the fifth.  I have just sent the following email to numerous supermakets in NYC:

Dearest Sir/Madam/Automatic response bot,

My name is JM Donellan, and I am an author from the faraway land of Australia where no actually we do not ride kangaroos to work and don't look much like Crocodile Dundee at all but thanks for asking.

"Mate, if you tried to ride me I'd kick yer fucken face off."

Like many authors, I have long dreamed of being awarded the prestigious title of 'New York Limes Best Smelling Author.' I would like to invite YOU!!!! to become part of an exciting opportunity to help me get that thing that I want.  My plan, at present, is to purchase some of your limes (perhaps a baker's dozen) and use them to create some kind of cologne which I will then douse myself in, allowing me to achieve my dreams
just like Oprah and whoever wrote 'the Secret' keep telling me I should do.

I would prefer if you would send me limes actually grown in New York, but if this is not possible then I would prefer that they have at least been in New York for a little while and have had a chance to visit its major tourist attractions like the Empire State building, the Statue of Liberty, Mos Def's house and, of course, Limes Square.

Here's an example I prepared earlier.

Probably postage will be quite expensive because Australia is very far away, but I'll be visiting New York in December and I promise I'll pay you back then. Also in Australia we don't usually like food coming in from other countries because of our fragile
ecosystem with lots of weird animals that want to kill you, so could you please write THIS BOX DEFINITELY DOES NOT CONTAIN LIMES SO DON'T OPEN IT JUST DELIVER IT TO JM DONELLAN (PLEASE) in big letters on the box?

Thank you for your time.

Swarm Regards,

JM Donellan

100 stories release & Electric Youth

The paperback of 100 stories for Queensland will be finally released on May 17. eMergent publishing is hosting a 'chart rush' in order to push to get the book as high on the amazon sales chart as possible. Here's a link to the facebook event, make sure you get amongst it and show the world that people read books that don't have titles like 'You Deserve Everything Right Now! How to get all the things you ever wanted for no reason without working for them.' or 'The Omega Conspiracy Complex Agenda: A Jack Spyhero novel.'

You can order the book from amazon HERE.

100% of the proceeds of this anthology will be donated to the The Queensland Premier's Flood Appeal. You can hear an interview of me talking about the book and other things on the 4zzz book show here (thanks Fraser Wright for the recording):

interview with 4zzz book show

My next project will be writing for the Literary Mixtapes project, I've been asked to write a story based on Debbie Gibson's 'Electric Youth.' FUCK. YES.

 

 In next week's adventures: Why I Hate Pandas & Other Tales.