'Morpheus, you have been summoned here to offer your judgement of the boy.'

I was asked to write this piece in 2012 as part of the 'NovElder' celebrations over at KISSFAQ. As that section of the website no longer exists, I am posting it here for posterity. Or, as the album's many detractors may suggest, out of my posterior.

As polarising and unpopular as Music From The Elder may be, I have loved it since I was a small boy and can trace my fascination back to a Sunday evening in early 1982, when I watched this and this on my grandparents' television. A World Without Heroes, co-written by Lou Reed, is my favourite song of all time.

                                             THE ELDER'S HEROIC JOURNEY

Thirty one years after its release, Music From The Elder has the dubious honour of being perhaps the most controversial entry in the KISS catalogue. Its birth and gradual evolution from the 'straight-on rock and roll that will knock your socks off' comeback Paul Stanley promised in late 1980 into the album we know today is as well documented as its makers will allow. Stanley, Gene Simmons, Ace Frehley and producer Bob Ezrin have been blisteringly candid about the record's making and perceived shortcomings, but no-one has shed much light on its attempt at a narrative. We know it began with a short story Simmons 'had written for the screen' but, in the wake of the project's spectacular failure, his reluctance to go into detail is as understandable as it is unfortunate.

In Chapter 22 of his KISS Album Focus, Julian Gill describes Music From The Elder as 'an obscure album built on an obscure premise.' The saga of a young boy who learns to overcome his doubts and gains the confidence he needs to fulfil his destiny might have broken new ground for a band who built their career on simple three chord party anthems, but the central themes are as old as stories themselves. Similar ideas appear in myths, legends and religions from all over the world. Again and again we meet heroes who must perform pre-ordained tasks and face a series of character building challenges as they do so.

Mythology expert and academic Joseph Campbell calls this process 'the hero's journey' and his 1949 book The Hero With A Thousand Faces has informed the work of everyone from Stanley Kubrick, George Lucas and JK Rowling to Bob Dylan, Jim Morrison and The Grateful Dead. Given Gene Simmons' fondness for movies and comic books, it's reasonable for him to have drawn some inspiration from it as well.

For all his influence, Campbell is not always easy to read. When Hollywood executive Christopher Vogler worked for Disney, he distilled the book's essence into a seven page memo, which he later used as the basis for his screenwriting manual The Writer's Journey: Mythic Structure For Writers. That structure breaks the journey down into twelve stages.

1. THE ORDINARY WORLD. An introduction to the hero through his or her everyday life.

2. THE CALL TO ADVENTURE. An external or internal challenge to the hero to step away from his or her comfort zone and play their part in the larger world.

3. REFUSAL OF THE CALL. The hero tries to turn away from the adventure, and often uses prior obligations as an excuse not to participate.

4. MEETING WITH THE MENTOR. The hero either meets someone who gives him or her training, equipment, or advice that will help on the journey, or reaches within to a source of courage and wisdom.

5. CROSSING THE THRESHOLD. The hero commits to leaving their ordinary world and entering a new region or condition with unfamiliar rules and values.

6. TESTS, ALLIES AND ENEMIES. A series of tests which enable the hero to learn who to trust on his or her journey

7. APPROACH TO THE INMOST CAVE. The hero and newfound allies prepare to face their major challenge.

8. THE ORDEAL. The hero enters a central space and confronts death or faces his or her greatest fear. Out of the moment of death comes either a new life or a new appreciation for their present one.

9. THE REWARD. The hero takes possession of the treasure he or she has won by facing death. There may be celebration, but also danger of losing the treasure.

10. THE ROAD BACK. The hero is driven to complete the adventure and bring the treasure home. Often a chase scene signals the urgency and danger in this part of the journey.

11. THE RESURRECTION. The hero faces another, more severe, test on the threshold of home. Another sacrifice, or moment of death and rebirth, purifies him or her on a higher level. The hero's actions resolve the polarities, internal and external, that were once in conflict.

12. RETURN WITH THE ELIXIR. The hero returns home or continues the journey, bearing some element of the treasure that can transform the world as the hero has been transformed.

Vogler goes on to identify the character archetypes the hero meets on his or her journey. These represent familiar patterns of human behaviour, which the examples below represent.

1. HEROES: Central figures in stories. Everyone is the hero of his or her own myth.

2. SHADOWS: Villains, antagonists or enemies, perhaps the enemy within. The hero's repressed possibilities or his or her potential for evil. This category may also include other destructive forces such as repressed grief, anger, frustration or creativity that is dangerous if it does not have an outlet.

3. MENTORS: The hero’s guide or guiding principles, such as an inspirational coach or teacher.

4. HERALD: One who brings the Call to Adventure, either a person or an event.

5. THRESHOLD GUARDIANS: Obstacles that block the hero's important turning points on their journey. These may be jealous enemies, professional gatekeepers, or the hero's own fears and doubts.

6. SHAPESHIFTERS: Vampires, werewolves or, in a less literal sense, double agents or defectors. These characters represent change or ambiguity, the way other people or our perceptions of them vary.

7. TRICKSTERS: Clowns and mischief-makers, who are often more perceptive than their public persona suggests (eg the Fool in King Lear). They reflect the hero's mischievous subconscious and urge them towards change for the better.

8. ALLIES: These characters help the hero to manage change. They may be sidekicks, buddies romantic partners who support and guide the hero through the transitions of life.

Many creative writing teachers, some of whom I've studied under, claim this model provides a foundation for any story worth telling. Anyone familiar with  Music From The Elder will recognise a few of the stages and characters I've listed above but, when evaluating how well the storyline ticks all the boxes, it's important to keep in mind that the album as released was the first volume of a trilogy that never saw the light of day. Had KISS completed parts two and three, the tale they attempted to spin might have reached a more satisfactory resolution, likely by following the dependable if predictable three act structure of most motion pictures. I could hypothesise forever on how the band might have gone about this, and I hope Seb Hunter's forthcoming film adaptation will fill in many of the blanks.

Painted in very broad strokes, Music From The Elder demonstrates a working knowledge of the heroic journey's early stages. After a portentious opening with Fanfare, Just A Boy shows us the anonymous protagonist's ordinary world, once a comfortable and familiar place now under threat from persons unknown. He wants to help save and protect it, yet has little or no confidence in his ability to do so ('I'm no hero/but I wish I could be').

To my ears, the earlier placing of Odyssey is one of few mistakes on the 1997 remaster. It's a track by an outside writer with no prior connection either to KISS or Bob Ezrin, and I can only suggest they chose it for theme rather than content. If Odyssey belongs anywhere, I would put it after Mr Blackwell and before I. It makes the most sense for the boy to have his moment of revelation after he returns from the mental and physical journey the song suggests he's undertaken.

Only You gets things back on track, offering both the call to adventure and its refusal. Our hero to be meets Morpheus, who explains his destiny in cryptic terms ('Only you have the answers/but the questions you have to find.') and suggests the biggest challenge he will face on his quest comes from within.

The boy, of course, will have none of it. He denies the caretaker's claims ('I can't believe this is true/why do I listen to you?') and wonders if they've chosen the right man for the job ('If I am all that you say/why am I still so afraid?').

Morpheus is an appropriate choice of name for The Elder's herald figure. It's a nod to the Greek god of dreams and translates as 'he who shapes', a process which can refer to destinies as much as unconscious imaginings. The Wachowskis picked up this idea and ran with it in their Matrix films, using Laurence Fishburne's same-named character to wake Neo from the sleep of his everyday world and guide him towards his ultimate purpose.

Under The Rose brings our hero in waiting before the Council. They remind him of the task their caretaker has hinted at ('but now before you lies a quest at hand/and from this boy you may become a man') and warn him of the consequences if he decides to accept it ('Loneliness will haunt you, will you sacrifice?').

Meeting the mentor(s) continues with a couple of long overdue and very welcome pieces of exposition. Dark Light is about the state the world will soon find itself in, leading to the rise of 'Sodom and Gomorrah/the malevolent order'. Although Ace Frehley's vocal delivery makes it less than convincing at times, the message gets through to our protagonist and his subsequent declaration that 'a world without heroes is nothing to be/it's no place for me' marks a significant turning point in his development. He understands now that if there is no-one else to stand against evil, he must do it himself.

The Oath follows an epiphany with a crossing of the threshold. This shows the boy leaving behind his
ordinary world to take on the role the Council have appointed him for. Upon pledging himself to the Order of the Rose, he attains a new sense of confidence and realises everything Morpheus and the unnamed Council members have told him is true. ('I gave my heart and I set it free. There's no turning back from this odyssey/because I feel so alive suddenly.')

As powerful an album opener as The Oath was in 1981, the remaster restores its rightful place in the timeline. There is no way the boy could 'go forth surrendering to history' without due preparation, knowledge or self awareness.

Mr Blackwell introduces the story's antagonist, the earthly representative of an evil force as timeless as The Elder. Whether the 'Washington DC power broker' mentioned in one of the album's early plot synopses has sought this role on purpose is a matter for debate. The contradictory lyrics suggest internal conflict ('I never said I was more than I am' vs 'you're a victim, a real disgrace') and the chorus's concern for his health ('you're not well, Mr Blackwell, why don't you go to hell?') indicate an adversary who is no more prepared for his role than the untrained hero we met in Just A Boy.

Difficult as it is to incorporate an instrumental into the plot, the title Escape From The Island and the use of sirens on the track itself present a couple of options. Since the struggle between good and evil is eternal and cyclical, it's possible Mr Blackwell's unseen employers have hatched their latest scheme while imprisoned, and used his kidnapping of a world leader as a cue to break out and loose their plans on the world. Pure speculation on my part but, considering how little we know, anything's possible.

I is a chest beating slice of self-affirmation, which reminds us how far the Elder's new champion has come since we first met him. The shared vocals and anthemic chorus recall Shout It Out Loud and perhaps it's there to remind the listener that, under the progressive rock veneer of this new and very different album, lies the KISS spirit they once knew and loved. It's a nice touch that comes too late to save the album and, by extension, the band. The first part of the tale they worked so hard to tell ends on a positive, upbeat note and showcases a hero who is ready to overcome the obstacles he will face on the rest of his journey but, unfortunately or fortunately depending on your point of view, neither he nor the fans got a chance to learn what these would be.

Recorded under very difficult circumstances by a band in the midst of an identity crisis, Music From The Elder presents a promising, if somewhat cryptic, take on the heroic journey. We'll never know how it might have continued or resolved and, while that may be for the best in commercial terms, it will remain one of the biggest 'what-ifs' in KISStory.

'Some people never go crazy. What truly boring lives they must lead.'

In 1992, WASP released The Crimson Idol. It was a band album in name alone, as they split soon after The Headless Children in 1989. Founding member and main songwriter Blackie Lawless (AKA Steven Duren) enlisted the help of largely unsung guitar hero Bob Kulick and session drummers Frankie Banali, late of Quiet Riot, and Stet Howland to complete what I consider his masterwork.

In many ways The Crimson Idol  is a consolidation of what Lawless and his bandmates achieved on The Headless Children. Having stepped away from the shock rock and Grand Guignol theatrics that made them the logical successors to Alice Cooper and KISS and so outraged Tipper Gore's Parents' Music Resource Centre, they set out to prove there was more to WASP than being L.O.V.E. machines or wild children who go blind in Texas while welcoming people to electric circuses and inciting them to scream until they liked it.

While The Headless Children concerned itself with then current world issues, The Crimson Idol's focus turns inward. Lawless draws on the influence of 'my mentor' Pete Townshend to weave the tale of Jonathan Steel. Constructed around simple yet effective musical and lyrical themes, Jonathan's story is not a happy one. Abused, neglected and ultimately disowned by his parents William and Elizabeth, he channels his rage and constant hunger for acceptance into music and hitch hikes to the big bad city to chase his dream of becoming the titular 'Crimson Idol of a million eyes.' He signs a deal with record label president 'Chainsaw Charlie' and is guided towards fame and fortune by  manager Alex Rodman. 

As Jonathan's star rises, a gypsy woman tells his fortune. Her tarot cards reveal a fallen hero in the tradition of Bowie's Ziggy Stardust and she warns him to be careful what he wishes for because it might come true. Rather than reassure Jonathan that he's on the right path, the woman's prediction leaves him with 'a haunting that would follow me (for) the rest of my life.'

Jonathan finds 'success agreed with me, with amazing ease. The more records I sold the more excess I had of everything', but none of these material trappings and sexual or chemical indulgences can bring him what he really wants. In several songs and interludes between them he asks 'where's the love, to shelter me? Only love, love set me free.'

His search leads him to the very place he left as an angry teenager. He phones his parents before a concert and attempts to reconcile with them but 'less than fifty words were spoken' and the last four were 'we have no son.' This prompts Jonathan to contemplate suicide and, during what turns out to be his final performance, he makes a noose from his guitar strings and hangs himself before his adoring audience.

Blackie Lawless has always had a flair for the dramatic. This is a man who thought nothing of drinking stage blood from a skull or wearing a chainsaw shaped codpiece that shot sparks into the crowd, but The Crimson Idol was the first time he incorporated such theatrical elements into his music rather than its performance. It was a labour of love that took years to realise and, like most stories that endure, it can be interpreted in many ways.

What appeals to me most about it is the juxtaposition between Jonathan's messianic, larger than life public persona and his true self. There are elements of Lawless' personal history throughout, which he would explore further on the next WASP album Still Not Black Enough while no longer 'hiding behind Jonathan.'

At the risk of sounding like the pseudy academic I once was and will be again, one of The Crimson Idol's most fascinating aspects is the construction and deconstruction of selves. The self I am in the process of building appeals to me much more than the person I see in the mirror or, as Jonathan called it 'the four doors of doom', but I must take care not to lose sight of who he is or where he came from. Unlike Jonathan, I have had a lifetime worth of 'love to shelter me', and that should provide enough rocket fuel for whatever lies ahead.    

  

'You can twist perceptions, reality won't budge.'

I don’t mean to go all postmodern on you, but I’ve been mulling over something for a while now and I think I’ve reached a conclusion that would save everyone and their dog a lot of arguments. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.

All opinions and interpretations are meaningless to everyone except the people who hold them. You can no more convince someone else that your view is right than you can change what colour socks you wore yesterday. Trying to bring another person around to your point of view at the expense of their own is an act of immense egotism and an exercise in utter futility. What do you really achieve by persuading someone to agree with you? Unless your grasp on your beloved convictions is so fragile that you feel the need to recruit an army of like-minded drones, then the victory is hollow at best. If you have absolute faith in the opinions you espouse, then the support of others shouldn’t even be necessary. Live as you like, believe as you wish and give everyone else the chance to do the same. 

In all the online communities I’ve been involved in over the years, not to mention that curious beast we call 'real life', I’ve noticed a trend for debates to rage back and forth for years at a time. Nine times out of ten they lead nowhere except round in circles, and succeed only in straining relations between people who might once have been good friends. When all’s said and done, the one thing people tend to forget is how little these differences matter. 

Every choice we make is based on our unique experience. The key word here is 'unique'.  I have no right to impose my opinion on someone else’s decisions because my choices are a product of very different experiences, which may or may not have influenced me in another direction. Whatever I decide or believe is entirely up to me, just as whatever you decide or believe is entirely up to you. Our paths may cross on the journey through life, but there’s no reason for our swords to follow suit if we happen to disagree.

Opinion by its very nature is subjective. More often than not it’s fuelled by gut reactions, which are set in stone the moment we feel them. There can be no such thing as a truly unbiased view, as good an idea as that might sound, because everyone sees things from their own distinct perspective and it’s never quite possible to remove the blinkers. From this we get the very human and very destructive habit of talking over the top of each other and thinking in terms of 'right' and 'wrong' instead of getting on with the daily business of living as we see fit.

The opinions expressed within this post are my own and do not represent those of anyone with better things to do than take up space with empty rhetoric.

'When I'm walking a dark road, I am a man who walks alone...'

My perenially single status has come up as a topic of conversation in many places lately, and led to me being labelled a misogynist and a sociopath. Sticks and stones and all that, but I prefer to think of myself as a miserable git who has a low opinion of most humans (regardless of gender), does not trust easily and prefers to keep to himself.

I've also been called 'the ultimate homosexual, not gay for your gender but for your own opinions and company.' There's truth to that charge, although it came from someone who irritates me beyond all reason.

I begrudge no-one the chance or the right to be in a relationship with a loving partner if that's what they want. It's the absolute last thing I want and I wouldn't know what to do if it were offered to me. Given the way my mind works, I'd most likely take it apart to find out how it works or spend every day waiting for the whole misbegotten mess to fall to pieces of its own accord.

There's someone out there for everyone, you say? Perhaps so, but then I'd have to look for her and genuinely want whoever I find. I don't see that happening because, rightly or wrongly, I believe the more of yourself you share with another person, the more power you give them to hurt you. Yes there are rewards but, if you're like me and count the cost before you pay the price, you might decide (as I have) they're not worth the risk.

I've been told I'm 'only living half a life', which may be true from the perspective of the person who said it, but that half is all about ME. I have the freedom and the resources to spend my own money on things I enjoy, to go and see my friends, to get a delivery because I can't be arsed doing dishes or sit around all day in my pyjamas if I want to. I can also blast heavy metal all hours of the day and night, sleep 'til noon, burp the alphabet, scratch my unmentionables and generally be the repellent slob I really am without explanation, apology or compromise. As the man said, 'I will not be stamped, filed, indexed, briefed, debriefed or numbered. My life is my own.'

I understand people want me to be happy, but a failure to communicate (or indeed procreate) arises when my definition of happiness doesn't coincide with theirs. Their well intended attempts to suggest or even set me on a different path go beyond 'okay, you're 38 now. This isn't cute any more, it's just weird' and instead indicate a need to validate their decisions. If those people need reassurance that they've done the right thing, they won't get it from me.

But wait, the argument grows thinner still. 'How do you know how bad relationships can be if you've never had one?' Because I've been blessed with the gift of observation. I have eyes and ears and I can see other people who are in relationships and the positive and negative aspects of same. For me the potential negative outweighs the positive a thousandfold, and I've nursed enough friends through bad dates and painful breakups to know I don't want to be in that situation myself. 'Harm minimisation' is a phrase often thrown around in drug treatment circles, and it's just as resonant in this case. I''d rather stick with being a physical cripple than end up an emotional one as well.

'Make new mistakes. Make glorious, amazing mistakes. Make mistakes nobody's ever made before.'

Two posts in a row that begin with quotes from Neil Gaiman. What can I say? Mr G makes a lot of sense.

The above is an excerpt from his New Year's wishes for 2010, in which he also says:

'...if you are making mistakes, then you are making new things, trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your world. You're doing things you've never done before, and more importantly, you're Doing Something.'

Over the last year I've had no option but to follow Neil's example.  Some of those adventures have turned out well, others less so. I've learned a lot about myself, the most important lesson being that I have only a journeyman's grasp of how much more I need to learn and would like to experience.

Like most human beings I've made mistakes, but not nearly enough of them. The phobia of messing something up, or appearing less than infallible by asking for help when I need it, has prevented me learning and growing as I might have wished. That all consuming dread of getting it wrong (gasp!) accounts for why, among other things, I've struggled to write the same book for a decade.

There is nothing whatsoever wrong with wanting my work, my life or my relationships to be as good as they can be. For that to happen, I need to relinquish a degree of control and give them the freedom to develop naturally. Striving for perfection is counterproductive to that for many reasons. It stifles growth, makes unscaleable mountains out of the tiniest molehills and, left unchecked, breeds the sort of fear that makes even the simplest task seem impossible. I know this to be true because, against Freidrich Nietzschze's advice, I have gazed long into that abyss and allowed the abyss to gaze back into me. At the height of my anxiety I forgot how to sleep, I developed a nervous twitch in my right hand that spread all the way up my arm and I mastered the art of saying 'nothing'sthematterwhatcouldpossiblybethematterandanywayIdon'twanttodiscussit' without moving my lips. My state of mind reached the nadir it did because I told no-one what I was going through and I wouldn't have accepted help if it was offered. For all my talk of mistakes, this is not one I care to repeat. It sabotaged my Masters degree in 2004/5 and turned what could have been an enjoyable and rewarding time into a minefield of self doubt and self deception. That was a far greater mistake than any creative left turn I might have taken while writing. With the benefit of hindsight I can identify, and find the courage to share, the reasons why it happened and stop one of the darkest chapters in my history repeating itself.

'You don't have to stay anywhere forever.'

Once upon a time there was a chap called Saul who had a life, and name, changing experience on his way from Jerusalem to Damascus. The disembodied voice that spoke to him as he walked did not make him any less of a misogynist git, nor did it curb his fondness for run on sentences. Rather, it gave him a clear direction and enough inspiration to ensure his writings would endure for nigh on two thousand years.

It's a long trip from the Holy City to the capital of Syria, over five hours on foot and a gnat's wing shy of 325 kilometres. The distance from Prospect Rd to my place is nowhere near as great, but some months ago I had a similar moment of revelation as I waited there for a cab I feared would never come. As an hour and a half ticked by and my patience began slowly but surely to desert me, I came to understand that my life was my own in a way it had never been before and I could do whatever I liked with it. This knowledge was new to me, and more than a little frightening, but it had the potential to transform me in ways I hardly dared to imagine.

From my earliest days on this Earth until the ripe old age of 37, I was half of an inseparable double act. I could neither part from my mother's side, nor stray too far beyond the parameters she set for us both. The mere thought of rebellion conjured feelings of disloyalty and ingratitude, but all the while I wanted something other, something more. A need to keep the peace stopped me from ever speaking about these desires and left me with no chance to act on them. I wasn't happy about this at all, and often felt like an angry wasp buzzing around in a jar, but I resigned myself to what I thought was my lot and lived with it the only way I knew how.

At 10:15 on the morning of Sunday December 29th, 2013, everything I knew changed. An unknowable and untreatable cancer ended my Mum's earthly life, brought her spirit closer to her God and left me alone, or so I felt, in a world I understood very little and preferred to keep at arm's length.

In the weeks and months that followed, I existed on autopilot and thought I was doing well if I managed to drag myself out of bed and get dressed on the same day. Maintaining the illusion of normality is often helpful in finding your way back there but, when your whole definition of 'normal' shatters beyond repair, there doesn't seem much point.

I still have days like that from time to time, but they come less often since that sunny March afternoon when I realised I had the means and the freedom to go anywhere on the planet and reinvent myself however I chose. Prior to that truth presenting itself, the plans I made for my future were all too close to home and hearth. I wanted to surround myself with the same places, things and routines I once railed against because I felt I'd outgrown them. When the idea of travel popped into my head, the comfortable and familiar world I resented yet subconsciously tried to preserve shifted on its axis.

So where to now? In the short term, nowhere much at all. I have a lifetime's worth of independent living skills left to learn and master before I can start globetrotting, but I'm working to a strict schedule and would like to have much of that sorted by the end of the year. In mid 2016, the northern hemisphere's summer, I plan to go away for three months and spend six weeks in the UK and six weeks in Canada. My sojourn in the Great White North will centre around Vancouver and Toronto for reasons of wheelchair friendliness alone, and hopefully increase my chances of seeing Rush live in concert before I die.

Great Britain's inclusion on my grand tour itinerary will surprise no-one who's known, spoken to or corresponded with me for more than five minutes. I'm not naive enough to believe the reality of England, Ireland Scotland or Wales will have much in common with the green and pleasant land I've dreamed of visiting ever since I can remember, but there's only one way to find out.

When I return home I will think long and hard about where I’d like to spend the next few years, apply to universities in the relevant area, sell my house and head to wherever accepts me in plenty of time for the 2017 academic year. I will stay at (insert campus here) long enough to complete my Ph D part time, then follow anywhere the path of academic research and lecturing work leads me. It’s a big world out there, and I want to see as much of it as I can while I can. I will continue to write anywhere and everywhere. Settling down is for people who have partners and families and, as I’ve spent a great deal of my span avoiding both, I see no reason that can’t continue. A life of uncomplicated solitude with only my own needs, wants and whims to consider will make it so much easier to pack my bags and move whenever and wherever the mood takes me. I think I could be very good at living out of suitcases, and I'll do it for as long as I'm able.

  

      

'Please allow me to introduce myself...'

Of the many things on my to-do list for 2015, a return to the blogosphere is among the simplest to begin and, I hope, maintain. My Livejournal account has lain untouched for at least five years and is best forgotten. The world has moved on since then and so, for a host of reasons, have I.

With a new year comes the next phase of adaptation to a new life, and with that a number of challenges and opportunities. These pages will chronicle my attempts to meet them all head on and serve as a record of my successes and failures. I anticipate plenty of both and look forward to learning from and building on them.

Many of the challenges I refer to would most likely not trouble those of you with functional lower limbs. For a thirtysomething man with cerebral palsy who's been chucked in the deep end and left with no choice but to swim, the daily business of being is a little more complex, but no less rewarding or surprising when I get it right. As a recovering perfectionist, I feel I'm at my best when I thrash out a detailed plan and stick to it. Life doesn't always offer the time or luxury to do that, and I sometimes find myself in situations where I have no option but to think on my feet and make it up as I go along. Both approaches have their merits (stay tuned for a lengthy ramble on the importance of co-operation between the logical left and intuitive right hemispheres of the brain), and the best results often come from a combination of the two.

The main reason for this blog's existence is to help its maker get back into a regular routine of putting words on the page. I was fortunate enough to hear the prolific and inspiring Kate Forsyth speak at the Clare Writers' Festival last November. She talked about the journals she's kept since childhood, and the vital role they played in fuelling her imagination throughout the twenty nine novels she's published so far. Methinks this southpawed scribbler could do a lot worse than follow her example and, in doing so, scoop more than a few stories out of my silly old head and get them onto paper. The subsequent journeys they will take to people's bookshelves or (gasp!) the screens of their e-readers will be far from straightforward, but that's what makes them worthwhile.

Between re-wiring my brain and keeping tabs on all I'd like to achieve in the years ahead, there will also be space here for impassioned rants about the books I like to read, the films and television series I like to watch and the music that's been a soundtrack to my life ever since I can remember. If you know me well, this will come as no surprise. If you don't, strap yourself in and hold tight :).

Also expect a fair bit of stream-of-consciousness waffle about life, the universe and everything. No blog of mine would be complete without it. If we've met in person, you'll know how easy it is to divert me onto such subjects. If not, consider yourselves warned.