That end-of-year thing

It's been a crazy 2018 and yet we've gotten through it (relatively) unscathed. I'm not going to lie. 2018 was tough, especially financially. Cape Town's water crisis coupled with the uncertainties related to South Africa's ongoing shifting political landscape resulted in the fact that things were on the quiet side until June/July. Mercifully the film industry picked up again, but I did have to dip into my savings (goodbye overseas holiday). So, yeah, I'm hoping things will be less dubious during 2019.

In terms of my work as a graphic designer, 2018 is the year that I've truly fallen in love with design again. My work in the film industry has kindled an excitement and interest in visual communication that I'm carrying over to my day-to-day tasks that involve design and marketing communication for a luxury petfood brand. The month that I was working at the Cape Town Film Studios on a major television series was one of the highlights of my year, and also an incredibly enriching experience.

Things happened for me on the music front this year in a big way, seeing the neofolk band I'm in with Terminatryx vocalist Sonja Ruppersberg, Isobel, performing at the ALTfest this year, as well as us producing and filming not one but two music videos. We also finished recording our album Dark Water, which will release early next year.

'Take Me Away' was filmed at St Paul's in Rondebosch, edited by the incredibly talented Leon Visser. 'Those Who Return' was filmed on location here in the far south peninsula, scripted and directed by my husband Thomas Dorman and assisted by Leon Visser. A huge thank you to everyone involved – Paul Blom, Matthijs van Dijk, Bounceboard Productions, and others.

While I haven't had any major sales, 2018 has also been good to me. I've seen stories released through Immanion Press in anthologies edited by Storm Constantine, who remains a guiding light in my literary career. After a long-form hiatus of a few years, I've also released a novella, The Firebird, which has been well received by readers and even made it to the semi-finals of the Self Publishing Fantasy Blog Off awards. You can make me incredibly happy by clicking through to the link and buying it. Or, if you've read it, do consider leaving a review on Amazon. I finished and submitted a novel to the Sanlam Youth Literature Prize again, so I'm still waiting for news on that. (The mere fact that I finished a project is already a win, in my books.) I'm currently still revising The Company of Birds, which is turning into a ginormous undertaking. I wish I could give you an ETA but this is a project that's taking the time it needs to be a good novel.

In terms of short fiction, I've had a short story of mine make the shortlist for a Nommo award. "On the other Side of the Sea" was first published in Omenana, and you can read it here. I have other short stories on sub and in production, so I try not to peer too myopically at my inbox.

I'm still editing fiction, but am only taking on select clients. Feel free to check out my editing rates above. Ditto also for book reviews, however my backlog is something awful, so I'm being incredibly picky in terms of which books I'll review. Do check out my review policy above.

Lastly, I'm excited to be taking my illustration more seriously. I majored in illustration at university, only I never got off my arse to take things further. This year I bought an iPad Pro and it's been an absolute game changer in terms of my creative endeavours. If you're on Instagram, do follow me there for my creative shenanigans. Otherwise, stalk me on Twitter, where I often provide largely irreverent unintentionally hilarious entertainment.

Chin up, buttercup

Things are ... stressful. Seems more than ever before we're running faster to stand still and I can probably throw a whole bunch of clichés at you right now but I'm going to resist the temptation. So, how the hell do I keep it together? So I thought about a few of my coping mechanisms which, although they won't accimagically make everything better and allow me to poop rainbows, they do go some of the way to help me get through my less groovious weeks.

MAKE LISTS
A good friend of mine makes lists whenever she's having a rough week. She laughingly tells me that when she puts "go shower" right at the top she knows things are ... Well. Sometimes everything's an effort. But, I've had those weeks myself where a list is the only thing stopping me from going gibbering down the street shrieking that the Evil Bad Mars Bars are chasing me. The best thing with a daily list is that sense of accomplishment when you cross off items: done the dishes... change the cat litter... edit 20 pages... read 20 pages of that submission... Tomorrow I'll make a new list...

FORESTS...TREES
Sometimes, if I look at all my looming deadlines at the same time I want to run gibbering down the street shrieking that the Evil Bad Mars Bars are chasing me. You get the picture. This is why it's so important to only look at the immediate deadlines. You know that old adage about not seeing the forest for the trees? Well, this is about being aware that there is a forest, but you're only going to worry about these two trees... for now.

Another lovely metaphor (and since I love mixing them), deadlines are all about putting out fires. Only douse the flames that are going to singe you now. I learnt this from almost a decade of newspaper publishing. Talk about a high-pressure job. Let's not go there.

NOBODY GIVES A SHIT ON FACEBOOK
We've all been there. I'm guilty as charged. Your mother-in-law just did something to piss you off. Your colleague never gets in trouble for lateness, but then you're late once and now the whole world is ending. Your client blows chunks. You hate your job. You've got a traffic fine... Now here's the really kak thing... NO ONE GIVES A SHIT ABOUT YOUR TROUBLES.

Sure, go ahead and post them on social media. Do it often enough and people are going to start thinking you're jinxed or something.

Here's the rub. It's not what you say, but how you say it. IOW, don't be a whiney douche. [Now you know why I try to be so unrelentingly cheerful and positive most days] If you're going to bitch, at least do it creatively, be nostalgic, wistful, wry ... but don't be a prima donna. Everyone's got their fair amount of bantha pudu they have to shovel. You're not alone.

Social media doesn't exist so folks can have personal pity parties. If you really need a shoulder to cry on, phone a friend, or Skype them if they're not even in the same country. Reach out and have a meaningful conversation. Go out for coffee with a friend. Don't shout out your misery to a whole bunch of people online you don't really know and who possibly don't know all the pertinent problems in your predicament. (See, I can make alliteration too.)

HAPPINESS AND BUBBLES
Okay, so you've resisted the temptation of letting it all hang out on Facebook? Good. No you're going to make another list. Find yourself a yellow Post-it note and write down the three things that make you incredibly happy right now.

Here's mine:
Reading the entire Wraeththu Mythos back to back.
Playing guitar.
Writing my current work in progress.

Next week this list might change, but these aforementioned items are at the top of what I need to do each day to make myself feel fulfilled and happy. But it's okay if I change my mind. Really. Whenever I feel like a right gobshite, and I'm surround by a pack of twunts, I think of these three things.

When can I make time to read? When will I play my guitar? Will I be able to squeeze in some writing time, even if it's only 15 minutes? Make attaining these small happinesses your micro goals each day. But don't sweat it if you don't get round to it.

Hell, don't stop there. If a print of Tom Hiddleston pinned to the partition of your cubicle makes you happy, do it to remind yourself that Hiddles is gorgeous and perving at him makes you happy. Ditto for that holiday to Cambodia – stick that picture on your partition too, so that you don't lose sight of your dreams. It's so important to remind yourself.

GET TEH HAPPEH
Now here is the most difficult thing you're going to do: give yourself permission to do at least one thing to make yourself happy that's not on your list – be it to read a comic book on the couch, watch an episode of your favourite series or play a console game for an hour. You need, no you deserve something to motivate you. Obviously don't use this as an excuse to goof off completely – set the parameters so you don't stray from what needs to be done (like going to bed at a reasonable hour or going to have that shower).

Don't feel guilty about these pleasures. Life is about excellence, but it's also about happiness. Find the things that make you happy on your own terms. Then do them. Stop worrying about what other people have done to you, and focus on your happiness.

PS, if you thought this was useful, do sign up for my monthly newsletter as I'll give more of the same but geared toward kicking your arse if you're into writerly things.

What’s African anyway?

I said to myself that I was going to keep my mouth shut about this. Really. Because this old argument has been doing the rounds in my immediate writerly circles for ages now. But some stuff’s been said by folks in the media recently that picked open the scabs, so I’m going to have my say and then be done with it. I'm also glad that I've waited a week to calm the hell down before posting this (and removing all the F-bombs).

Firstly, there’s the notion of what constitutes being African, and writing African issues. Don’t get me wrong, I firmly believe that all people who reside in Africa, or who were born here, should have a voice. But … And here’s the really big BUT. This voice should be inclusive.

We need to ask ourselves why many South African fantasy, horror and SF writers look to getting published overseas rather than locally. Oh, it’s never said out in the open, but I’ve – excuse the colloquialism – picked up enough stompies. (Reading between the lines, for you folks overseas.) We have a wealth of amazing talent in this country, and what’s being done to develop it? Not much.

Oh, you’re not literary enough.

You’re not writing about “African” issues.

Your ancestors were not born in Africa.

You are not African enough.

Major awards or grants go to writers who create the “right” kind of “African” fiction or poetry. So, what’s going to happen to South Africa’s answer to JRR Tolkien, Stephen King or Ray Bradbury? Not much. Their voices will go unheard because they do not validate a common stereotypical perception of “Africa”. This is discrimination. Plain and simple. You can try dress it up in platitudes about how we need to uplift blah, blah, blah, but it doesn’t change the facts. I see this in other art forms too, particularly the film industry. It makes me tired.

Culturally I'm Afrikaans. When I was a teenager, I was so ashamed of my culture and race back in the 1990s I stopped writing and reading in my mother tongue or discussing "local" issues in my fiction. I looked to the worlds created by Anne McCaffrey, JRR Tolkien, Kate Elliot and CJ Cherryh for inspiration. Which is possibly now why I write mainly SFF/H. I often feel my writing is socially unacceptable here because I choose to write SFF/H. But, get this. (It gets even better.) When I submit to overseas houses, I have my stories rejected because they are not “recognisably African”. When you say you are an African writer, there are certain expectations of your art, and you need to play along and conform to a particular vision of what is African – according to the lens presented by the world.

What makes my experience of being African any less valid than that of a farmer’s daughter in the Northern Cape or a retired security guard living in a township?

But jawellnofine. I'll leave you with that. I'm going to continue doing my thing, and I'll continue cheering on some of my mates who've broken into the overseas market because hey, that's awesome. You go. Do your thing. I'm not going to stop trying.

All I ask is that you think about what it means to be African, and how we are moving into a world where borders are blurring, and cultural identity is moving from local to global. Africa is more than thorn trees in the Serengeti. It's more than South Africa's apartheid past or the depredations of colonialism. We need to move beyond that.

State of Doing… Not Being, evidently.

I suppose at some point I should write about all the cool stuff I’ve been doing lately. Like that book release I had in February which I neglected to make any mention of on my blog. [slaps self through face with pap snoek]

Yes, I had a book release, and it’s called Camdeboo Nights. Yes, it’s a weird-sounding title but the Camdeboo is an actual place here in Africa. It’s very dry and it’s in a region known as the Karoo, and the Camdeboo is pretty much smack bang in the middle of South Africa, in the middle of nowhere. Desolate. Empty. Yet so very rich in mystery.

So staying with that, I've already gone visiting at a few blogs, most notably an interview with author Carrie Clevenger over at Wicked li'l Pixie's spot, a stop at Calisa Rhose's blog, and this week I'm author of the week at Kim Larocque's blog. So, if you're yet to catch any of those posts, they're all neatly rounded up for you 'cos I'm kinda nice like that.

No go get Camdeboo Nights direct from the Lyrical Press website, at Amazon or on Kobo. Hey, even Kalahari has it.

Some exciting stuff happening with my Books of Khepera series. I’m getting fantastic peeks into what my illustrator Daniël Hugo is up to for book two’s cover, and I’m in the midst of sorting out the file for Khepera Redeemed, to get it ready for layout and eventual release late-April if all goes smoothly. I’m of half a mind to get stuck into finishing book three soon, but I’m kinda letting my muse lead me where he will right now, so everything is subject to change. But if you’ve yet to dip into Jamie’s world, you can pick up book one, Khepera Rising, at Amazon, Smashwords, Kobo and in print.

Because I’m very nice that way and try to give you as many different formats as possible to keep everyone happy. Curious what other people have said about the story? There’s plenty of reviews up at Goodreads. Go check ’em out then add the book to your TBR pile if it tickles your fancy.

Dawn’s Bright Talons, that very odd fantasy novel in a pseudo-Victorian setting has been sitting on full sub now for a very long time. That is all I can say about it, apart from mentioning that I’ve chewed both my arms off at the elbow and am now using a straw to type this blog post. I pray I have good news. One day. In the meanwhile I'm going to pretend like this novel never happened and we'll all be happier for it.

Raven Kin is now almost halfway with the revises. Yes, it’s taking its sweet time and I’ve still not decided whether I’ll bother going on the submission mill with it or just do it myself, because to be quite honest, I don’t see agents or editors lining up to play with a talking griffin as the narrator. So, between you, me and all those Skandranon fans, this is a little homage to non-human protagonists. Yes, I blame you, Mercedes Lackey. I’ve always wanted to write griffins, and I hope my readers will soon get to meet Silas.

Occasionally I get a small chance to write, mostly during down-time at the office or over my lunch hours. I’ve been blessed in that I’ve finished two short stories this past month. The first is entitled Painted Wolves and it’s written in response to a call for subs related to werewolves. I’ll know muuuch later this year whether anything is happening with this. My protagonists are two African wild dog sisters who’ve been dispersed from their birth pack, as per custom. They bump into a mysterious Egyptian lone wolf, and things get a bit weird after that.

The other story I just penned was by invitation for an A-to-Z bestiary. I drew the letter P and I’ve written a story about a púca, but obviously I’ve added an African spin to this mostly Irish legend. Am not quite sure when that one’s coming out or whether it’s even been accepted yet, but I’ll keep you posted.

I’ve got other short fiction out there or on the verge of being available. You can check out a creepy spook story called All That Remains which I wrote for Chaosphere volume #4. I return to the seaside town where I grew up in this one, and draw on mystique of a house that used to belong to the little old lady who lived down the road…

Then Probatio Diabolica features a journalist who bites off more than she can chew; the story appears in the Urban Occult anthology (edited by Colin F Barnes). You can get it on pre-order now but it releases March 25.

Another anthology to be released soon, The Demonologia Biblica, features a my dear friend Jamie the black magician in action. Yes, I’ve been missing the lad, and in Old Scratch he has his hands full with a troublesome exorcism. And yes, he's in top form, so be warned.

The fact that I’m writing (and selling) short stories like hot cakes fills me with endless amounts of the lulzies. You see, I always thought I needed to write and sell short stories first before I got round to writing and selling novels. Evidently I do things backward. Now, just to secure me a literary agent AFTER I have an offer from a large publishing house. Now wouldn't THAT be a hoot?

But probably one of the contributing factors to me focusing on my short fiction instead of longer works is my editing work. I’m currently wrapping the edits for Bloody Parchment volume #3 (eKhaya, Random House Struik) and once that’s done, I’ll be giving my all to my next editing assignment with DC Petterson. I’m really looking forward to working on Lupa Bella (Dark Continents Publishing), which is a werewolf tale that draws on ancient Italian folklore. It’s suitably visceral, on many levels. I’ve also got the Dark Harvest anthology looming (Dark Continents Publishing), not to mention arranging this year’s Bloody Parchment short story competition. Yeah, and there are other ideas in the pipelines too. Which I can’t talk about right now or else I’ll have to kill you.

On a completely different front, I can now safely say I’m playing music again. Last year April I picked up my classical guitar after not playing for more than half a decade. I’m still nowhere near where I was when I was studying music and doing the whole rigmarole with exams, but I feel like I’m feeding part of my soul that I neglected for a very long time. I have memorised a few pieces, and have even performed at a small private function. Where I’m going with this I don’t know, but it’s enough right now for me to say that music keeps me from doing stupid things, and at least for an hour every day I stop caring about all the usual BS like my home loan, annoying people, job security, sadness… You pick whichever works for you.

But back to writing… I’ll give you a hint about a WiP that’s growing slowly… Shhh… It has fairies in it. ;-) But they’re not the nice kind, okay?

On fear

It’s not often that I feel like standing on a soap box but this week I will. I don't make any apologies for offending anyone. Freedom of expression and all. I’m going to chat about fear. A bit of background. I grew up during the tail-end of the apartheid era here in South Africa. When I was a little girl I lived with the very real fear that terrorists were going to blow me up with landmines or shoot me.

'cos that kind of stuff happened... and sometimes still does. Our country isn't perfect. Our farmers are murdered up north for being white landowners. Our black lesbians suffer "corrective" rape in the townships.

But we are working on things. We open dialogue. We are talking to each other. We are trying to find solutions.

We are very fortunate here in South Africa that we had a relatively hitch-free changeover from minority rule to a true democracy. Granted, there’s a whole new set of problems in our Rainbow Nation nowadays but at least our children can grow up without fearing a “Night of Long Knives” or bloody revolution.

I grew up beneath the pall of civil war. It’s not very nice. This kind of fear leaves a dark smudge on one’s soul.

What has this taught me?

My generation stands as a bridge between the old and the new. Too young to be decision-makers to be blamed for the previous regime we nonetheless were present to usher in the new era of reconciliation tempered with tolerance and a spirit of ubuntu. And yes, I’ll be honest. The New South Africa isn’t all peachy keen for white folks. We are discriminated against for being “previously advantaged”. But that’s not stopping me from working hard at my job and paying my taxes. I love living here. I love my country.

Also, it’s not for us to rest on our laurels here in South Africa either because there’s still a lot that is broken, and there are many, many problems. We are, by and large, a multicultural melting pot of people who have no choice but to make allowances and indeed celebrate each other’s differences. We are not a monoculture. Sometimes we do rub each other up the wrong way but I do believe we are starting to see ourselves as South Africans first, then black, white, coloured, Zulu, Jewish, Afrikaner, Indian Christian or Muslim second.

The differences between South Africans will always be there, but I firmly believe that we, as a nation, are working hard, despite the growing pains, to make this work – that lovely little catchphrase of “celebrate diversity” and all that.

We all have something special about us as tribes, cultural groups or Africanised nationalities to bring to the table.

Now, back to fear. When I was growing up, I was constantly warned about “die swart gevaar” and “die rooi gevaar” (the black fear and the red fear). Communism and a black uprising were these terrible fears hanging over our heads. The Commies were going to come and take away everything we held dear and all the white people were going to die during the Night of Long Knives. This is what my parents believed. This is what I believed.

I was too scared for us to drive on dirt roads because I believed the “terries” were planting landmines. In hindsight I realise this wasn’t happening in Cape Town’s rural areas but it was all we heard on the news. And we believed it. Swapo was going to swarm across the Angolan border and a host of other terrible things were going to happen.

The fear choked us. We became insular as people, viewing those of other races with suspicion. International sanctions against South Africa didn’t help either. Many of us were ashamed of calling ourselves South African and those who could, travelled on British passports.

And, to a degree, that legacy of “us vs. them” still exists though we try very hard to eradicate it. It’s that old fall-back, harking to preconceptions and stereotypes. It’s easier to blame a previously held misconception than try to look at ways to solve problems. And holding onto the fear, the preconceptions and the misplaced anger only leads to further knee-jerk reactions. It goes both ways.

I’ll say this: there is no easy solution. But I’ll add to this statement from what I’ve learned as a South African. There comes a time when you must stop looking at the differences, and stop trying to be right, and accept that everyone, in their own heart, feels that they are perfectly justified to think and believe in a certain way.

Once we stop trying to be right all the time, we can start looking at the common ground we share with our fellow humans. Whether someone believes in red apples and another in green apples is beside the point. That both will die for their belief in apples while ignoring the basic fact that we are Homo sapiens… Now that is sheer and utter foolishness.

What we are capable of doing to The Other we fear is but a mirror of the disrespect we show to our Selves.

I’ll close by saying what I said to my dad when I first figured out what apartheid was: “But we’re all people, daddy. Why can’t we all just play nicely?”

Come on, people. Play nicely. We can share our toys, can’t we?

Running out of year, fast

I think I sneezed and suddenly I ran out of 2010. I mean, really, WTF? Looking back, it's clear a lot has happened. A lot of good and some bad, but mostly good.

Writing-wise I've seen the print release of both my Khepera novels this year, which are also both available through Exclusive Books (one of South Africa's big book retailers). Not many snapping-on-the-heels-of-the-big-fish authors can boast that.

Editing-wise, since I've purchased my very own laptop, I've been able to keep a closer handle on my deadlines. How I managed to cope last year bouncing between machines at home and elsewhere, I don't know. I'm also really pleased to report that some of my debut authors have gone on to having their second novels contracted to Lyrical Press, and my oh my, have some of them are shining with their writing. I'm looking forward to seeing how their novels will do when they release next year.

In the same breath, I'd like to add that I'm currently open to queries from authors in the urban fantasy, steampunk and paranormal romance genres, as well as actively seeking BDSM stories. I'll also consider contemporary and historical romance if a story has a bit of added "something else" (grit). If you've an idea, you're welcome to email me at nerine@lyricalpress.com after visiting http://www.lyricalpress.com/ for its submission guidelines.

Stuff I like: vampires, pirates, vampirates (okay, being silly here **grins**) but as a guide, my favourite authors include Storm Constantine, Jacqueline Carey, Neil Gaiman and Poppy Z Brite, while I have to dip my hat at William S Burroughs and Hunter S Thompson. That should give you a pretty good idea of what I'd love to see in submissions.

But equally exciting has been my decision to start writing outside of my chosen genre: going the erotic romance route. Even better is realising how much I enjoy writing these stories because, to be honest, it really does show when an author isn't comfortable within a particular genre. I view my romance writing, under the name of Therése von Willegen, as a vacation between my "serious" projects. If you want to keep up to speed with that particular "brand", do follow the Von Willegen blog: http://vonwillegen.blogspot.com/

Although I cannot sit back and look at this year with any sense of satisfaction (I can always do better), there have been some exciting achievements.

My husband's indie filmmaking is really taking off. BlackMilk Productions walked off with the award of "Best Local Short" at this year's SA HorrorFest. We're awaiting (with bated breath) the results for the Auteur awards happening at the start of December. They've been invited to screen some of their films at the Cult event happening in Johannesburg this weekend.

Although I've suffered a personal tragedy in one of my best friends passing away, I've nonetheless had the opportunity to say goodbye to dear Shaen, who was like a brother to me considering my own dysfunctional relations with with whom I share DNA. As an aside, Shaen was one of the people who influenced the conceptualising of South Africa's "wickedest" man.

But, back to the writing...

My next romance novel, Hell's Music, is currently under consideration with a publisher. I'm also meeting with a literary agent in December (in South Africa, yes, I know) and, although I don't expect representation (ever the experienced optimist) I'm very interested to hear what she has to say about my steampunk novel, The Black Goat, and how I can improve it. I've yet to put that one on the submissions mill and am planning extensive revisions during the festive season. But I've had a very positive response from a well-known South African author who absolutely loved it, so I know it can't be completely rotten.

And, lastly, my paranormal sort-of romance novella, The Namaqualand Book of the Dead, is now in its final editing stages. Busy finishing a last round of post-line edits and, after that, galley. This releases in April through Lyrical Press.

On top of that, I'm busy with the first draft of another paranormal romance-ish yarn (with fang), entitled What Sweet Music They Make. I promise that my vampires don't sparkle, and hark back more to a mix between Lost Boys-style combined with vintage Anne Rice. (With only a dash of wangst, okay?)

Basking in the Creepy Green Light

October is an apt month, if any, to write a tribute to a man and his music. Peter Steele, bassist and front-man for gothic metal band Type O Negative, passed on April 14 this year, about six months ago, and it’s taken me all this time to consider exactly how iconic he was, and also just what I wanted to share about what he meant to me.

Those of us who listen to music will always have bands or musicians who are “it” musicians, who sum up an era or a state of mind perfectly. And, while I’ve had an affection for assorted gothic, electro and industrial initiatives since I got over my unfortunate mainstream affliction at the tender age of fifteen (I blame Trent Reznor for this), Type O Negative has always been one of those bands that lurked on the edges of my awareness.

I had a deprived childhood. I grew up during the time when the great World Wide Web was only beginning to put in an appearance in South Africa during the early to mid-1990s. Mandela and De Klerk had just brought our country back from the edge of a bloody civil war and, to put it mildly, years of socio-economic sanctions had us living in a bit of a cultural backwater. Sure, we had some idea about popular culture but pity us alternatives who really had to struggle to find out about new trends.

Hell, the music we were dancing to in our dark, dank alternative clubs was sometimes a decade or more out of date. Not that we cared. It was still better than grooving to the dreck they were airing on radio. Bela Lugosi is dead So what? Too young to have seen the likes of South Africa’s No Friends of Harry live on stage, take LSD at The Stage or lurk in corners at The Playground, I nonetheless grasped at whatever hints of alternative culture came my way, usually in the form of recordings of recordings of recordings of some obscure band (can anyone say Marilyn Manson?) or hours poring over foreign music magazines bought at the local “books per kilo” store.

As my friend Tracey commented to me today on the train, “You missed out on the best times.”

Yup.

The alternative kids at my high school banded together, whether they were hippie, goth or rasta, spending break times in the quad bragging about various feats of sheer teenage stupidity and generally looking down on the sporty or nerdy types. Me? I was a nerdy type who’d lost interest in being the good girl after two particular bad years in hospital where I’d nearly croaked it. A near-cancer experience after a burst appendix kinda readjusts your outlook on life.

I kept asking myself: there must be more to life than growing up, marrying some doctor or engineer and breeding more little white middle class suburban punks. That’s more or less the time Nine Inch Nails came out with The Downward Spiral, signalling my own, personal descent into the darkness, from whence I’ve never quite re-emerged. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I never did quite like going out into the sunlight. Skin cancer, UV rays an’ all.

And, before you say it, yes, I’m that old.

I remember the day I encountered Type O Negative quite clearly. I was in my final year of high school that year and a friend of mine had given me a copy of an Alternative Press magazine featuring none other than Pete on the front cover dressed in a cupid outfit and very little else. But it was his eyes that got to me. Something about the eyes. Who the hell was this man? Did he find his way onto my bedroom walls and high school diary? Hell yeah!

Granted, pathetic little munchkin that I was, I only got to hear my first sample of Type O Negative about a year later when I scored a copy of ToN’s Slow, Deep and Hard. I’ll be perfectly honest. The music didn’t quite match up to what I expected the man to sound like. But I gave it a good few more listens and the music started growing on me.

“There’s something there,” I mused. “There’s something about this music I could really grow to love.”

The first Type O Negative album I bought was October Rust, and I remember hating reaching the end of the disc and wishing there was more where Haunted came from. Many late nights in my parents house, wondering what on earth was to become of me... That album is an anthem for that time of wondering.

But sadly I wasn’t ever able to kindle a full appreciation of ToN’s music. I dated some sad gothboy who didn’t approve of my musical inclinations (no more ToN, okay?). Granted, I got into Bauhaus, The Cure, Siouxsie and a bunch of other bands I’d never have listened to otherwise. (Music at least ten years out of date, hey.) Then I completed my tertiary education, got a job, bought a house.

Yeah, the whole white suburban middle class punk thing kind of happened anyway. I’m thirty-two now but thank freck I’ve something to show for the crazy-arse kid I used to be. I’ve written two novels, sold others, and I’ve lost track of how many others I’ve completed. I’m finally living one of the dreams I set for myself. Granted, I no longer play in bands but I still have my bass. I’ve recaptured some of that madness I had when I was seventeen.

And by freck, I’m glad I’ve not bred. I don’t have that hanging around my neck. I do have a husband but I’m happy he doesn’t force me to do anything I don’t want to. I can still let my hair down and plug into that current that drove me all those years ago. Because you know what? I’ve found it again. It never went away. It was just mired in more than a decade of trying to live life according to society’s rules.

So I’ll remember Peter Steele. I’ll remember what his music represents, which is a big “eff you” to the rest of the world. I’ll live my life according to my rules and screw everyone else. I’ll have no regrets.

Hey Pete. wherever you are, thank you.

You suck!

And while I live and breathe, I will speak your name and drink a glass of red wine for you on Halloween each year. Your music has always been there, a spirit of the age to which I belong. I never even conceived your time would come to an end so soon.

That’s the problem, we still believe we’re immortal.

It would be nice to close with something intellectual, but at heart I’m just a thug.

Everything Dies

The good, the bad... and the story

So... I'm starting to get excited about Tainted Love now that the admin is happily puttering along, which means I'll be setting up a profile for my "dark half" Therése von Willegen. If someone had suggested two years ago that I'd be writing contemporary erotic romance, I'd have laughed myself sick but, to be quite honest, I'm enjoying it. Alternating between my "serious" writing and the stuff that (I hope) will sell, it's a nice break to write some fluff...or as my lovely husband so succinctly puts it: porn with a pink border.

Dunno about the pink border. Probably more like black leather-and-studs, since I'm definitely not writing sweet stuff. Okay, okay... I'm providing the required HEA but the characters in my stories aren't squeaky clean. I tend to focus on folk who belong to a far more bohemian crowd than the ones I've encountered elsewhere, and I aim to write with some authenticity.

Nothing annoys me more than reading about alternative types via some vanilla person's perception of what is Goth, or is not. Invariably, these characters are stereotyped Hollywood templates and are so...inauthentic. Like oh, so suicidal... Oh, life is sorrow... blah blah blah. Sure, I've got a black dog nipping at my heels from time to time, but I can't imagine anything more miserable than having to wear pastel, read chicklit and hang out with my girlfriends in shopping malls while sipping smoothies.

Bats, black lace, velvet, red wine and cemetries make me happy. Addams family ON! Deal with it. **strains of Type O Negative's Black No. 1 in the background**

I've been what my mom refers to as "rebellious" since I was 15. Almost two decades later, I'm still there. I've played in grunge, Goth and black metal bands, I've stage-dived, I've done a spot of alternative modelling, I've watched the sunrise more times than I care to remember, I've woken in hospital with alcohol poisoning, kissed girls, interrupted an orgy by mistake, been stabbed, helped out behind the scenes for fetish photo shoots, almost been arrested, been involved in indie filmmaking, got tattooed, pierced...

Some good, some bad, I wouldn't trade any of these experiences over the past 17 or so years for the world. They're little markers along the way. I'm not always proud of some of the stuff I've done but always, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

And it makes for a good story. These incidents and some of the people I've encountered are where I draw much of the inpiration for my tales, be they gritty dark fantasy or erotic romance. I like heroes who aren't wholly good. My ladies may well have a shady past (or present). But the point is, not everyone's going to be the wholesome girl or boy next door, 'cos face it, if we didn't break the rules, things would be really boring. In my books, at least.

And I may well be on the wrong side of 30, but I'm not done yet.

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Book one and two of my Khepera series are now available IN PRINT, in South Africa. No excuses about not reading on screen. Support a starving author so she can create more mayhem as a full-time occupation.
http://www.kalahari.net/page_templates/searchresults.aspx?searchText=Nerine+Dorman&navigationid=632&displayShop=books

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Call for submissions. I'm currently on the prowl for fiction across all genres for a Titanic-inspired line of novellas and novels. See the link below for further information.
http://nerinedorman.blogspot.com/2010/05/call-for-submissions-titanic-inspired.html

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And, if you reckon you've got what it takes to write a good horror or dark fantasy short story, we'd like to hear about it for the SA HORRORFEST's Bloody Parchment short fiction competition. Details here: http://bloodyparchment.blogspot.com/