Charles Purcell's Blog, page 19

10 REASONS WHY THE SPARTAN WOULD KICK JACK REACHER’S ASS

SURE, Jack Reacher is one legendary bad-ass. But could he beat the hero of my exciting new ebook military thriller, The Spartan, in a fight?

As awesome as Jack Reacher is – and I’m a huge fan of all of Lee Child’s Reacher books – here’s 10 reasons why the Spartan might get the edge mano a mano over Child’s famous creation.

He’s a Tier 1 special forces soldier, not an ex-MP

In his mid thirties, two hundred and fifty pounds of tight muscle, cobalt blue eyes, brown hair in a buzz cut, you could describe the Spartan in many ways. Maybe he looks like a younger, fitter Clint Eastwood. Or an Ultimate Fighting champion. But mostly he looks like someone who could mess just about anyone up.

And he eats ex-MPs for breakfast …

Despite their being high in fat and salt.

… washed down with China’s finest rogue special

forces soldiers Probably the toughest hombres in the world apart from the US special forces.

He knows karate He’s also been trained by Marine snipers, ninjutsu masters, French savate champions, muay thai fighters, judo trainers, boxers, Indonesian silat practitioners, even knifemen from Third World slums.

He’s joined the Navy SEALS on missions

You know, the guys that took out Osama Bin Laden. And their hiring policy is prohibitively restricted … only the best of the best need apply.

His weapon of choice is an M249 machinegun, aka

“The SAW” The choice of bad-asses everywhere. And for close quarters work, a Spartan xiphos short sword. So you’ve got other options apart from just fists, which Reacher relies on all too often.

He has a pal with the Mark 1 Ghost Armour invisibility suit for back-up Just the thing for stealthy infiltration and recon.

Homeland Security’s top troubleshooter has his back

Handy if you need anything from re-supply and intel to a

drone strike.

The Spartan is still in active service around the world

Military skills degrade once you leave active service to wander the earth solving mysteries … like someone we could mention.

But after the fight, which would be extremely close, we imagine the Spartan and Jack Reacher would be pals.

Just like Rocky and Apollo. Ding, ding.

Charles Purcell

The Spartan is available now through on Amazon www.amazon.com/Spartan-Charles-Purcell-ebook/dp/B00JGEBTKG/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1404127987&sr=8-3&keywords=The+Spartan

Day In The Life Of An Editor

 

 

IN MY previous days in journalism I was on occasion called upon to act as editor. This was usually in magazines, but it also did happen at the Sydney Morning Herald on the Metro section.
In that spirit, here is a piece on what the daily life of an editor might be like … in an alternative universe where one is free to be merry with the truth. Like your typical chocolate bar, it may contain traces of nuttiness.

7am: Wake up. Turn on the radio to hear the big stories of the day. Realise that they’ve sourced most of their big stories of the day from the newspaper.
8am: Have a shower and get dressed for work. Choose a striped shirt because stripes are “in” this season and also because they’re slimming. Catch some morning TV. Realise that the tellie has gotten most of its big stories from the paper as well.
9am: Catch the ferry and read the paper on the way to work. Hope the art section isn’t running anything or anyone I’ve got in my section on Friday. Fuck … they are. Make a note to find an immediate story replacement.
10am: At work. Say hello to my young No.2, Billy. See what message he has written on his t-shirt today. Tell him not to wear it if he’s going out to interview Dame Judi Dench this afternoon.
10.15am: Check the email box. A mere 100 new messages. Must be a slow day.
10.30am: Fistfight breaks out on the sub-editors’ desk over the correct use of “it’s”.
10.50am: First random crisis of the day.
11am: News rings, asking if I’ve got anything left over they can run tomorrow. I tell them no. Then I ask if they’ve got anything I can run. They laugh and hang up.
11.15am: Check my snail mail. Half a dozen CDs arrive in the post from bands hoping for coverage. Don’t they know that CDs are dead?
11.30am: Check in with Kiwi Bruce the designer. Ask him if he thinks the latest edition is looking “shit”. “I’ve seen worse,” he says.
11.45am: Check copy flow with the subs. Remove gratuitous reference to “turkey slapping”. Rewrite most of the subs’ headlines because I’m an arsehole.
Noon: Satisfied that all the pics and copy is with the artist and the subs, go through some of the emails of the day. A reader takes me to task for my “mocking tone” during an interview with an American country singer. I reply that “country and western music is shit”, then delete the email and instead reply that “Jimbob Jones is an underappreciated genius”. Feel unclean.
12.20pm: Get my chair “ergonomically adjusted” by the office ergonomics expert.
12.45pm: Exchange witty, ironic JPEGS and GIFs with colleagues.
1pm: Quick lunch at the canteen. Haloumi salad (yum!).
1.30pm: Second random crisis of the day. Call legal department.
1.40pm: Legal department gives me the all-clear. Says “those buttocks are unidentifiable”.
1.45pm: Arts section asks if they can swipe next week’s cover story. I tell them to “piss off”. Then I ask if they’ve got anything for me. They laugh and hang up.
2.15pm: Someone sends me a “literal” spotted in today’s paper: “The Vietnam Wart”. Ah, sub-editor humour. 
2.30pm: Indulge in a bit of forward planning, tee up some interviews, try to source cover images. Wonder how I can slip more references to “my spectacular mane of chest hair” into copy.
3pm: Send some future cover images to Kiwi Bruce. Ask him to tell me if they look usable.
3.15pm: Kiwi Bruce gets back to me. Cover images “not too shit”. I ask if that means they’re usable. He says yes.
3.30pm: Second coffee of the day. Maybe a muesli cookie, too, if I’ve “been good”.
3.40pm: Back at my desk in time for third random crisis of the day.
3.45pm: Look around to see what “the opposition” is up to. Remark aloud that they’re “looking shit”. Wonder if in another office somewhere someone is holding up my section and declaring it’s “looking shit”.
4pm: Look at memes of cats.
4.15pm: Publicist accuses me of not supporting local music for refusing to run a piece on little-known yet emerging band.
4.30pm: Publicist accuses me of not supporting local comedy for refusing to run a piece on little-known yet emerging comic.
4.45pm: A friend emails me. “The ’80s called. They want their hair wand back.”
5pm: Publicist thanks me for supporting local theatre for running a piece on little-known but emerging theatrical troupe. Show sells out. I forward the email to the arts critic, who recommended the troupe.
5pm: Google myself.
5.10pm: Remember to compliment someone.
5.15pm: Take a look at layouts, make suggestions, run a red pen over copy.
5.30pm: Stare out the window and wonder exactly who it is who reads the section.
5.45pm: Final crisis of the day.
6pm: Last chance to attend to anything urgent: copy, layouts, images, requests from editors. Read and delete as many emails as possible to get some breathing space for tomorrow’s avalanche.
6.30pm: Insert final reference to “my spectacular mane of chest hair” into copy before calling it a night.

My ebook military thriller, The Spartan, is out now on Amazon http://www.amazon.com/The-Spartan-Charles-Purcell-ebook/dp/B00JGEBTKG

Robert, Woody, Kathy, Barack Obama and me … my top 10 celebrity interviews

HERE’S a little compilation of some of the best celebrity interviews I’ve done over the years. For me, they’re all outstanding in some way, whether it was the connection I forged with the subject, what we were talking about or that fact I just really dig their work.

Take a look …

Robert Downey jnr

Robert just absolutely oozed charisma in real life. Witty, charming and erudite, he was in Sydney to promote the first Iron Man, which no one knew at the time would be a hit. Of course it was … and a franchise was born http://www.smh.com.au/news/entertainment/iron-will/2008/04/23/1208743020730.html

Woody Allen

The man behind everything from Hannah and Her Sisters to Vicky Cristina Barcelona has only even done a few hundred interviews in his lifetime, so this was a rare and special interview. Making him chuckle was a career highlight http://www.smh.com.au/news/entertainment/film/woody-allen-is-not-amused/2009/10/13/1255195780060.html

Bill Bailey

Only this UK animal lover and star of cult comedy Black Books would build a bridge for otters to safely cross the highway. Cerebral humour doesn’t come much better than this. Anyone who hasn’t seen Black Books, go watch it immediately http://www.smh.com.au/news/arts-reviews/bill-bailey-tinselworm/2008/08/14/1218307100187.html?page=fullpage

Kathy Griffin

A misunderstanding over whether the American comedian and star of My Life On The D-List had appeared in an episode of Just Shoot Me turned into one of my most personally amusing and entertaining interviews ever. Her live show in Sydney killed too http://www.smh.com.au/news/arts-reviews/kathy-griffin/2008/02/21/1203467263061.html

David Duchovny

As I’m a huge fan of The X-Files and now his most recent show Californication, this was another treat. We were getting on great until I had to keep banging on about the X-Files and whether aliens exist and whatnot, which probably made him think he was dealing with a conspiracy nut. Still … a cool guy http://www.smh.com.au/news/arts-reviews/kathy-griffin/2008/02/21/1203467263061.html

Noel Fielding

By now you can probably tell I’m a bit of a fan of interviewing comedians. I’ve always been a big fan of The Mighty Boosh, so talking to Boosh star Noel was a real pleasure. Great adlibber, too. Boosh insiders joke: apparently Noel likes jazz, which might surprise Julian “Howard Moon” Barratt http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/comedy/confessions-of-a-jazz-convert-20121004-2709a.html

Neil Gaiman

Adults like to call comics “graphic novels” so they can still read them and not be accused of reading comics. Anyway, Gaiman did more than just about anyone else in bringing “graphic novels” into the mainstream with his superb Sandman series. A clever fellow http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/books/comics-genius-20100803-114ez.html

Kamahl

This singer and TV personality is best known to Australian fans. I’ve always remembered my early interview with Kamahl because I found him so charming, good natured and funny http://www.smh.com.au/articles/2004/01/15/1073877961146.html?from=storyrhs

Robert Patrick

Come on! If you’re going to interview that silver Terminator dude from T2, aren’t you going to pepper your interview with questions about the Terminator … even if you’re supposed to be talking about a movie about firemen? Of course you are. Fortunately, Patrick was a good sport http://www.smh.com.au/news/Film/He-Robot/2004/12/30/1104344914642.html

Barack Obama

OK, so you can’t just ring up the White House and interview US President Barack Obama. Or call the Vatican and ask the Pope for an interview. The Queen doesn’t do interviews either. As for trying to track down Madonna? Forget about it http://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/celebrity/hello-mr-president-20090403-9qqt.html

My ebook military thriller, The Spartan, is out now on Amazon http://www.amazon.com/The-Spartan-Charles-Purcell-ebook/dp/B00JGEBTKG

An ode to the Mosman dog poo fairy

An ode to the Mosman dog poo fairy.

An ode to the Mosman dog poo fairy

Sometimes people ask me, where do you get your ideas from? And sometimes I reply, ideas can come from anywhere and everywhere. Inspiration is all around: in the news, online, on TV, on the streets.

For example, today I noticed a banner strewn across Mosman’s Military road that read: “There’s no such thing as the dog poo fairy”.

But what if there was a Mosman dog poo fairy?

Her tale might go something like this …

“I shouldn’t exist,” thought the Mosman dog poo fairy as she flitted above the streets of Mosman on her magical wings. “I shouldn’t be.”

The Mosman dog poo fairy was often struck by such existential thoughts as she carried out her job, magic wand in one hand, plastic bag in the other, collecting the excreta of the pampered pooches and poodles of that elite suburb. Like most living creatures she was grateful to exist: and yet, she couldn’t help but yearn for a different life, one where she literally wasn’t wing-deep in “poodle dust” each day.

She watched as a leotard-wearing woman in her late forties let her Siberian husky befoul the local park. The fairy hovering out of sight as the dog did its business. Then, when the dog abandoned the scene of the crime with a contended shake of its hindlegs, the fairy flew down to perform her magical duty.

“Why couldn’t I be the bloody tooth fairy instead?” she thought as she shovelled the turd into the bag with the use of her wand. “All he has to do is collect teeth. No shit at all. AND he gets paid!”

The fairy deposited the dog’s waste into a nearby bin, then flew up into the sky and waited for the next dog in Mosman to do its business.

One of the worst parts of the job – apart from literally cleaning up turds – was that it had turned her into a dog hater. As a basic cherub, yet to mature into a fairy, the Mosman poo fairy had loved dogs. Alsatians, poodles, pit bulls, sausage dogs, Dobermans … she loved them all.

Then she gets the letter from Fairy Central about her new job and … wham! Within a few months she could no longer picture a dog – any dog – without imagining what came out of its backside.

Sometimes she marvelled at just how much came out of the tiniest of dogs. Some were literally turd factories, their waste gathering unattended on the corners of Mosman in coiled mounds.

Talk about being given the shih tzus.

Then there were the owners. She hated them most of all. She hated their laziness, their selfishness, their refusal to do the right thing and clean up after their dogs. It was hard to say who the worst offenders were, men or women, young or old. Sometimes the fairy was surprised – the most innocent-looking person, the sweetest old lady, could be the worst culprit, gleefully encouraging their pet to purge itself and congratulating it on its efforts before moving away, no attempt at poo removal made in blatant violation of the Companion Animals Act of 1998.

Some owners at least had the decency to pretend they were doing the right thing, clutching a plastic bag in their hands, them “forgetting” to clean up afterwards.

“Oh … I didn’t clean up after my Belgian barge dog? I’ll do it right now! Soooreeee!”

Others were more brazen, letting their dogs crap out in the open without even the pretence of a bag.

These people usually owned German shepherds.

She sighed. Being the Mosman dog poo fairy was a thankless task. One that no one – not even a fairy – should be called to perform.

The Mosman dog poo fairy was called back to attention when she spotted one of her usual suspects.

There she was again: the well-heeled woman of a certain age, walking her toy poodle. There to let her beast “do its business”. And madam without a plastic bag to pick up the mess. (Or was it madame? The Mosman poo fairy was never sure if it was Madam Butterfly or Madame Butterfly … or even Madama Butterfly?)

Anyway, Madama Butterfly and her dog had been befouling Mosman for years now and no one had ever called her up on it.

Usually the fairy believed in a strict policy of non-intervention in human affairs. Yet the fairy also liked to believe that there were unwritten rules in society … one of them being that you had to clean up after your pet. If everyone did what Madama Butterfly did, we’d have anarchy. The streets of Mosman would resemble Paris, the boulevards festooned with dog merde. Someone had to make a stand. Check that: some fairy.

The Mosman dog poo fairy flew into action just as the poodle stopped shaking its leg, a satisfied post-crap look on its tiny face.

“Hi there,” began the enchanted fairy. “I noticed that your dog just crapped on that front lawn. I was wondering if you were going to pick it up.”

The owner looked the other way.

“I mean,” continued the fairy, performing a figure-eight in the air, ”you’ve been letting your dog soil the grass for years without picking up his business. I was hoping that one day you’d do the neighbourly thing and bring along one of those black plastic bags and collect the crap. You know, like everyone else does. Or at least most people do. OK, some do.”

The owner refused to acknowledge the fairy’s presence as she fluttered near her heard.

“I’ve been watching you,” said the fairy in her tiny, tinkly voice. “Not in a creepy Sting ‘I’ll be watching you’ way, but in a neighbourhood watch way. And I have to say, it hasn’t been a pretty sight, what with all the lawn defilements. But your poodle has an excuse. I can’t expect little Cujo there to pick up his own mess. That’s your job. So … ummm … next time you come by here, please make sure you’re ready to clean up after Mr Tiddles there.”

The woman started walking away without so much as a by-your-leave. “I hate bringing this up as much as you do having to hear it,” shouted the fairy after her. “I didn’t wake up this morning and decide to play the role of dog faeces enforcer! I didn’t choose this life! It was thrust upon me! I had no choice! But you do! You do!”

But of course, the woman hadn’t heard the fairy. Or seen her.

The humans never did. Because she was a fairy. An invisible fairy.

The Mosman dog poo fairy.

“God I hate my job,” she sighed. But no one was listening.

My new ebook military thriller, The Spartan, is now available on Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Spartan-Charles-Purcell-ebook/dp/B00JGEBTKG/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1403164842&sr=8-1&keywords=Charles+Purcell+The+Spartan

This is The Spartan!

Hi there,

Charles Purcell here, journalist and author of the recently released military thriller The Spartan, now available on Amazon http://www.amazon.com/The-Spartan-Charles-Purcell-ebook/dp/B00JGEBTKG. How are you today?

As you can see, this is the very first entry of my blog. In it, I hope to share my experiences in writing, particularly with the sequel to The Spartan, tentatively called The Spartan: Blowback. I’m about 55,000 words through it at the moment.

I guess one thing right off of the bat is that it is tricky trying to find the right balance with the characters from the first novel. There are certain characters I personally like that the plot currently doesn’t allow space or a place for. ideally, these heroes and heroines (including a certain Russian) should fit organically into the story without having to be shoehorned in. That’s one thing I’m finding. Which is a shame.

Another thing … where do the characters go from the events of the first book? What is their “narrative arc”, he said pretentiously, ash from a half-burned Galoise burning the cafe table? During a comedy seminar the instructor once said that if you set the character up right the first time and make them believable, then whatever happens next will flow naturally as the characters respond to situations in their own distinct manner.

So I have a pretty good idea what my main character the Spartan will do in any situation. But what about his comrades in arms and lover, Vasquez? How will she react to, say, being attacked by a whole bunch of ninjas? Or how will Homeland Security’s top troubleshooter, Colonel Garin, react when someone suggests he screwed the pooch over the whole canister conspiracy featured so prominently in the first novel? I’m as curious to find out as you are.

Another thing I’m wrestling with at the moment is the old Game of Thrones dilemma: when if ever is the right time to consider bumping off a character. The old Ned Stark conundrum.

I must admit, I never really understood why George R.R. Martin had such a reputation for killing off characters until I just finished the fourth season. Fortunately he has such an awesome pantheon of characters he can spare a few casualties. I don’t think I have such a diverse and numerous rogues’ gallery that I can get away with that just yet. But I am open to bumping some off … we’ll just see how the plot pans out.

A friend told me today that it’s now safe to read the first three books in the Game of Thrones series. That’s a relief – I’ll never forget going into the bookshop and reading that “when xxx killed xxx” on the back cover of one. I’ve had to wait years until it was safe to go back into the bookshop and peruse old RR. (Another problem, of course, is that the internet is just chock-full of GOT spoilers. If only there was an app for that … or at least anti-spoiler software.)

Anyway, there are a few of my initial thoughts. The sequel is a work in progress and I hope to be finished by the end of the year. I’ll be regularly keeping you up to date with my progress. In the meantime, I recommend you grab a copy of The Spartan and get reading!

Until next time,

Charles Purcell