Jack Binding's Blog, page 8

Captain Jack

Happy 2017 my wonderful friends.

I don’t know how yours went, but I planned on having a respectable celebration this year. When the clocks ticked over to midnight, I had romantic visions of sauntering out of wherever I was, sober and together. I’d arrive home around 12:30am and start 2017 with a clear mind and a healthy body.

That didn’t happen, of course, so I spent 1st January 2017 watching 13 back-to-back episodes of Fringe and eating Pringles (they’re smaller in Sydney).

But I suppose I’ve had worse days.

And then on 2nd January, my hangover still lingering, I went on a boat trip with some friends across the harbour. We ate oysters and fresh prawns from the side of the boat as it was moored by a deserted little beach.

This is my life now.

Weird, huh?

I must admit that I feel a little displaced out of the drizzle and pubs and the confusion of London. Do I sound like a whiny brat for not embracing all this nature and goodness that my new life is now offering me?

‘Ain’t this the best place in the world?’ someone said, as we ate the oysters, drank Tattinger and the sun burned my pasty English skin.

Perhaps embracing the outdoors is something that can be learnt.

I will persevere.

I may be many things, but a quitter I am not.

 

 

 

 

PROPERTY is FREE 1st & 2nd JAN 2017

Got the hangover from hell?

Started off 2017 with a mouth that feels like sandpaper?

Haven’t slept and waiting for that comedown to kick in?

Regretting sending that person a suggestive text at midnight, and embarrassed because, no matter how much you’ve stared at your phone since, they still haven’t replied?

Waiting for Domino’s to open so you can order a large meat feast with 2 premium sides?

Did you really take that Uber at 6x surge price?

Well, HAPPY NEW YEAR, motherfuckers!

To make you feel a little better about life and to ease you gently into 2017, Property is free on on 1st and 2nd January 2017.

Here’s the very tiny blurb:

You’ve bought a brand new apartment. The taps glisten. The rain shower falls hot and heavy. But beneath it all lurks something evil…

And here are a few snippets of feedback for you:

‘Subtle hints, self-realization, and an ending you wish you saw coming.’

Anna Kopp

@AnnaKoppAuthor

‘Jack seems to take his observations from life and serve them to you with some sharp edge… Sometimes, the writing just has it. And in this case, it does have that something…’

Liz Scanlon

@Cvr_2_Cvr

‘I completely melded into the second person narrative.’

Meg Sorick

@MegSorick

‘Dark. Bleak. Grim. Slightly depressing because it’s so grounded in reality.’

Alen B Curtiss

@ABCurtisss

‘A highly recommend – if grim – little gem.’

Tim Kimber

@Tim_Kimber

‘His writing style is unique, descriptive, and blended just right for the story.’

Michael W Griffith

@MWGriffith14

I should mention here, that anyone who has ever left a review (either good or bad) – thank you for taking that time to share your thoughts. Means a lot to me (although, obviously, the more so if it’s a positive review).

So what the hell are you waiting for …?

DOWNLOAD THE FUCKING THING NOW

Social Networking Update

I finish the year with around 2,050 Twitter followers. Well that’s pretty nice, right?

I suppose social networking is only as productive was what you put into it.

I cannot be fucked with Instagram anymore. My personal FB is deleted.

I use FB for my author page only.

Google+ is still a mystery to me.

For me, Twitter and WordPress are the two main platforms for successful self-promotion. Facebook, I think, is a little too personal. Do you want my BUY MY NEW BOOK update in the same timeline as ‘grandma’s died :-(‘ and ‘Dave’s bought a new Audi’ ?

But when scrolling through a list of impersonal Tweets, BUY MY NEW BOOK fits in much nicer.

I try, however, to mix the Tweets up. There’s nothing duller than a list of promotional links. I want to know that there’s a person writing those Tweets, not some fucking robot.

So I like to get festive …

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Or I jump onto those trending hashtag things …

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Occasionally I get political …

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Or maybe I offer employment advice …

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Or I’ll chat about art …

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Transport news …

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Love and sex …

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Emotive topics, such as mortality …

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New technology …

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Dating advice …

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Motivational Tweets …

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So, yeah. 2016 may have sucked in many ways, but I finally understood Twitter. And that’s more than some people accomplish in their entire lives.

Later.

Obligatory 2016 Retrospective

It’s almost over. It’s almost done. Jesus Christ, I’m gonna get fucked up on New Year’s Eve. The moment that clock strikes midnight (and I’m in Sydney right now, so I’ll get there before most of you guys), I will drink enough Crystal Head vodka to take down Lindsay Lohan.

What a fucker of a year. Makes last year’s retrospective seem light and fun.

Celeb Deaths

Bowie, Cohen, Prince, Ahern, Rickman, er … Burns.

Well, we’ve all gotta go sometime, and Bowie went out with one of his best albums in years. I fucking loved Blackstar.

It’s worth it for the title track alone:

And if that’s not enough for you, it also inspired this absolute fucking tool:

 

 

Okay. Have you gathered yourselves now?

Good, then I’ll continue …

Celebrity deaths are a thing. They are, after all, just people (although, I must admit, I’m on the fence re: Paul Daniels).

And while we’re on the subject of celebs – I fulfilled one of my lifelong ambitions and saw Mariah Carey live. And she’s not dead. At least not on the outside.

Politics

I was having a chat to a friend recently, and she described 2016 as ‘The last, dying gasp of the rich white man.’ I thought that was pretty apt. Also, it gave a little hope to it all.

Brexit. Trump. Entitled racists bleating on about how their ‘freedoms’ are being taken away. But then you all know about that. Ah, fuck you, 2016. Fuck you.

Travel

Ever the Bond-esque globetrotter, I travelled well. Florence, Lake Garda, Sydney (twice) and Cancun.

I had heatstroke. Twice.

Life etc.

I quit my (pretty decent) job of 9 years and sold my flat to emigrate from London to Sydney. I haven’t worked now for over 40 days.

That takes some guts. Well done, Me.

 

Writing

I did it.

In October, Dot Matrix was released. I expected people to hate it or (even worse) not give a shit. You know what? People kinda liked it. Excessive profanity aside, it’s probably one of the most accessible things I have written. The positive response gave me the confidence to pursue more writing, and so in November, I released Property.

Property is (today, at least) the story of which I’m most proud. It’s short, dark, snappy and has a very nasty twist.

Twenty-Seven was released in December. Twenty-Seven is (believe it or not) the most autobiographical of the three released so far. I had so much fun writing as the asshole narrator. I started, perhaps, to ‘find my voice’ here.

I wrote a bunch of other short stories. Some may never see the light of Amazon KDP, some are already being lined up for 2017.

Next year, I’ll keep on releasing one a month (although January’s will be slightly different – more on that later).

One step at a time.

Social Media

I’m almost at 2,000 Twitter followers. Once I hit the big 2k, I’ll down a shot of vodka, regardless what time of day it is. I’ll probably have to do this at home, due to Sydney’s intolerance of people enjoying a drink or two. Still, I have a better selection than most of the bars in Bondi Junction, so that’s just fine with me.

I have decided Instagram and (fucking) Pinterest are useless for ebook marketing. Twitter, Facebook and THIS BLOG are all I need.

Next Up

There can’t be more stormy seas ahead, surely?

But that just sounds like the ramblings of a naive sailor as he heads into a typhoon.

Keep those hatches battened down. I made it through 2016. A little scarred, but harder than Jason Statham at a porn shoot.

2017.

Bring it on.

Legally Binding

I used more than a little life experience for inspiration when I wrote Twenty-Seven.

MILD SPOILERS AHOY!

There is one part in which the sleazy narrator signs a “management contract” with a music manager. He’s so wasted he can’t read it, so just pretends he’s cool with the contents of it.  FYI: The contents turn out to be pretty sinister.

When I first signed a recording contact (way back in 2004, I think), I was wrecked. My band and I were summoned to the record label’s office to sign this thing. Of course, being the disorganised crack heads they were, they weren’t ready for us when we arrived and said, ‘Come back in a few hours, once we’ve worked out how to use the printer.’

So we dragged our bony asses to the nearest cheap pub – The Masque Haunt on Old Street. I wonder if it’s still there. I wonder if it was ever there? Did I imagine it? Is it in some alternate dimension …?

I digress.

So there we were, sitting in The Masque Haunt (I wrote a very bleak song of the same name a few years later). Nobody had any money, however I had about £75 left until I maxed out my Egg credit card, which was more than enough for three of us to get hammered on.

We came back a few hours later, drunk as anything, and there they were – three contracts, sitting on the label head’s messy desk, next to a pile of demo CDs. I took one of the contracts and flicked through it, nodding and grunting at regular intervals. But I could barely focus on the fucking thing, and besides, it was full of legal jargon that didn’t mean much to me.

The label head said, ‘You sure you don’t want a lawyer to look at this before you sign it?’

A lawyer?! Fuck, I had, by then, about £8 left on the Egg card and I was the richest man in the room. So the three of us shook our heads in unison and said, ‘Nah, everything seems legit.’

Now, you read stories about bands signing record deals and then the label brings out the vintage Moet and the caviar and the strippers. We had none of that.

I just skulked off home, an afternoon hangover creeping in and a feeling of dread swelling in the pit of my stomach.

But may have been a little naive, but we were young idiots – we knew no better.

So my advice to you – and I’m sure you lot a far more savvy than I ever was (or still am) – is don’t sign a fucking thing until you are sure.

Don’t sign a fucking thing.

 

Sydney Acclimatisation

I’ve been here a little under three weeks now.

London to Sydney.

I am not used to being a stranger. London was so familiar by the time I’d left, I didn’t appreciate how easy it made everything.

‘You’ve made the right choice moving to Sydney,’ people tell me time and again. Maybe I take it the wrong way, but it implies two things to me:

1. These people think they have life cracked (they don’t) and 2. The places I’ve been living in for the past 36 years have been shit (they’re not).

Sydney is not better, it is simply different.

Of course the weather is a draw for many. Not me. My proclivity for facial hair might suggest otherwise, but I’m not exactly a short-wearing beach bum. I like trousers, jeans, leather jackets, suits (and the odd roll-neck jumper). I’ve compromised by buying a few pairs of linen trousers, which I think make me look like a Columbian drug baron (although actually probably make me look more like The Man From Del Monte).

 

(I did not know until I just watched that ad that Tom Baker did the voice-over. What a wonderful piece of geek info!)

So yes, weather and clothes.

Of course the food here is wonderful. Well, the Asian food is, anyway. And the fish. Prawns as big as my fingers.

(Dominos pizzas are smaller, but that’s no bad thing.)

And wandering around the beach at night (breathtaking views from Bronte to Bondi), or jogging around Centennial Park in the morning are both lifestyle pluses.

But then there are the bars. I was here in May and I didn’t remember it being such a nanny state. If the bouncers think you show the slightest sign of inebriation, they’ll either kick you out or not let you in. I had a small disagreement with one such individual during my first week. I’d had one schooner of lager (not even a pint!). ‘Nah, you’ve had too much, go home.’ I’m not as compliant as the locals here, so I simply responded, ‘Fuck off.’

I’m not allowed back in that pub anymore (which is just fine by me). And double-plus – I have a new bouncer character I’m going to kill off gruesomely in an upcoming short story.

The dichotomy of mandatory happy hours in every bar you visit and the intolerance for people being pissed is something I can’t get my head around. It’s like they’re baiting you to get fucked up and then reprimanding you when you take them up on it.

A lot of people tell me how expensive it is here. Well, I suppose it’s true. But Sydney is not the most expensive place in the world. Property (and certainly rent) is far cheaper than London. Although, strangely, avocados are extortionate.

These little differences give me nice ideas for writing. Most of the my WIPs are currently London-based. I’m relying purely on memory for those right now. It’s actually making them far more surreal (my memory is a strange, twisty thing).

My new ideas are based here. There’s a lot of material for horror. Blistering heat, weird creatures (check out the fucking evil Ibis bird pictured above), psychotic bouncers.

The nanny state thing also provides great material for dystopian sci-fi.

I did text one of my best friends and said I missed the relative leniency of London. He replied, ‘Mate, it’s Christmas. Work parties all over the place. People are vomiting on the street by 7pm most nights in the City.’ And then I remembered that London’s fucked-up in its own, unique way.

And I thought, well, maybe a little regulation ain’t so bad.

 

Dot Matrix/Property/Twenty-Seven by Jack Binding

Thank you thank you thank you! Property is actually my favourite too – you have exceptional taste

Using Context Cues To Help Writing Moods

Here’s a useful little tip I thought I’d share with you.

I always make playlists to help me with my writing. I find they get me back into the right headspace. And you know what? There’s actually science behind this.

CONTEXT DEPENDENT MEMORY

Godden & Baddeley (1975).

These guys tested memory on SCUBA divers, underwater and on land. In a nutshell, their findings were that subjects scored higher on the memory test when the environment was the same (so learning underwater and then recalling on land, for example, scored less than learning underwater and recalling underwater).

And that got me thinking. You know when you’re trying to write and you can’t get yourself into the zone? I’m sure you do. Perhaps you’ve had the initiative to nab yourself a full time job and you don’t want to bleat on about being struggling artist, so you have to write at certain moments during the night or day – stolen moments. Well, this might help.

Make a playlist to help you slip back into the mood. Use its context cues to trigger the emotions you need to write whatever it is you’re writing.

I’ve been doing this since Dot Matrix. Now, Dot Matrix is an angry sort of tale, so, naturally, the playlist is a little heavy. Every time I’d sit down to write it, I’d listen to the same gaggle of songs. I think it helped enormously with getting me back into the right frame of mind. I’ve used the same technique with Property, Twenty-Seven and everything after.

With the world moving faster by the day, one needs these little tricks to maximise creativity.

Anyway, here’s the playlist I listened to when I wrote Dot Matrix.

Enjoy

Twenty-Seven is OUT NOW

Yes, so that’s the third one. 99c / 99p on the Amazon site of your choice. Go and buy the thing.

It’s kind of like a cross between Clive Barker and Zoolander.

SPOILER ALERT! Turn back now if you want zero details of Twenty-Seven divulged to you.

Still there?

Wonderful.

The story had been in my head for some time. I must stress that it’s not based on personal experience … honest to God. Not me. Friend of a friend.

In real life, it went like this …

My friend of a friend got wasted one night on MDMA and cocaine. Utter reprobate. He was with a few other people in his flat and they ended up getting it on. Like, ah, sexually. In real life there were four people involved that evening. Cigarette smoke hanging in the air, Pink Grease playing on the stereo. Kids who think they’re going to live forever. NSA.

But when writing a short story, you need to make it lean, so I cut it from a foursome to a threesome. Rather like the night in question, the fourth person was kind of superfluous.

Anyway, later that night, this friend’s friend woke up, bodies around him and the bedroom window open. It was then he had a vision. Now, this guy was a musician at the time and, what he says is that he saw the Devil. Beelzebub just hanging out there in the night sky, levitating outside the open window. So this guy sold the Devil his soul for the promise of fame.

Of course, he was hallucinating. And, of course, he’s still not famous.

So Twenty-Seven is, partially, based on real life events.

 

 

So when I wrote it, I thought ‘This’ll be easy – I know this story.’ But when I finished the first draft, it felt kind of flat – the narrator was a bit dull. I put it away in a drawer for a while and forgot about it. In the interim, I read a lot of Jim Thompson and re-read Brett Easton Ellis’ Glamorama. And that gave me the idea of making the narrator a vacuous, louche dickhead.

I read many writing blogs and books in which they tell you to keep your protagonist likeable. I thought about it a little and decided: fuck that. You might hate the protagonist (I have come to like him), but one thing he’s not is dull. And there’s nothing worse (IMHO) as a dull protagonist – or a dull anything, really.

So that’s the Twenty-Seven for you. Sometimes the clearest tales in your head are the hardest to put down on paper. This one, though, I think turned out pretty well …

 

(If anyone would like to review it, just drop me a line and I’ll fix you up.)

Dot Matrix Review

A few weeks back, I mentioned reviews and asked if anyone would be kind enough to give me feedback on Dot Matrix and/or Property.

Bryan Hemming, one of my most interesting and prolific new writing acquaintances, took me up on it and wrote some very nice words about Dot Matrix.

Here they are:

One of the joys of reading horror stories lies in knowing however bad things may seem, they’re only going to get much worse. We all have days when we could happily kill the people we live or work with. But few of us get round to actually doing it.

 

In Dot Matrix Lawrence Hawthorne pictures how he would – as he puts it – euthanise Ross Baker Head of Marketing at Frip PLC. Almost in an act of kindness.

 

For his first published short story Jack Binding fashions a small cast of backstabbing characters most of us might like to euthanise. We might even like to euthanise Lawrence Hawthorne. Set in an office in London’s East End the story captures one essence of a good horror short by ensuring his main protagonist as just as unworthy of our empathy as the rest. Nevertheless, we can’t help but see that Hawthorne is only human. Realising that, as most of us have experience similar situations, we begin to understand the rancour he harbours towards his fellow workers.

 

Ross Baker messes up, only sneak behind Hawthorne’s back to heap as much blame as possible on him. In an atmosphere where everyone is fearful of losing their job it’s no small matter. The only possible job security to be had is by making it to the top. And that means using colleague’s heads as stepping stones to get there. Forced to work well after midnight because of the mistake Baker made, a tired Hawthorne hears a strange sound in the deserted office. He fears someone might’ve overheard him cursing his superiors beneath his breath. He feels the presence of someone, or even some thing. That’s when things start to get out of hand.

 

Jack Binding’s work reminds me of some of the great horror short stories dating from the 1950s and 60s. The English author’s debut tale of deadly office intrigue whisked me back to masters of the genre such as Ray Bradbury, Roald Dahl and the long-forgotten Gerald Kersh, to name but three.

 

Dot Matrix is an excellent launch to what looks to be very promising trajectory.

He also wrote about Property, too, but I’ll save that for another post.

So yes. I have more things to write. Psychological stuff. Sydney stuff. Science fiction and how the Westworld TV show has blown my mind.

Also, Twenty-Seven is out in a few days. First person asshole narrative. I suppose there’s a reason I do that pretty well … But I’ll heckle y’all about that one in due course.

I kind of miss London. Boo hoo etc.

Right, I’m off to the beach to try to even out my sunburn.