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Queen of Wands – image by Ciro Marchetti – click full size
I’ve been really getting back into my tarot the past month. This is something I’ve been doing since 1986, when I was 15, but after years of being “lazy” and very insular with who I did readings for (almost never apart for myself) I’ve now found a renewed passion and pleasure in doing readings for anyone and everyone. You’ll see me using a deck of well-thumbed playing cards at bars and cafes on staff and punters alike, quick simple four card readings that help me sharpen my skills again. Strangely, this is something partly inspired by the novel I finished reading last month: The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern (fantastic book). I’m a big advocate of the Rider-Waite-Smith deck, and the more progressive (psychoanalytical) interpretations of their symbolism. I still have the first deck I ever bought back in 1986; it’s the only deck I’ve ever used in earnest and is very dear to me. I decided to buy a separate deck to use in public places. Something to be less precious about. I received it today. Found it via a chance glance of an image on a search engine image search for some card or other; I was really struck by the artwork and so looked closer and found “Legacy of the Divine Tarot by Ciro Marchetti“. Just wow. Beautiful imagery. Still based on the principles of the Rider-Waite-Smith deck with a few optional tweaks. I’m still bedding-in and getting acquainted with them, but very much looking forward to using them properly in a few days or so. Meanwhile, I’ll continue to use my battered deck of regular playing cards as I did on the staff at Harvey Nichols cocktail bar tonight. A rusty nail and divination. Perfect way to end a great day.
DANTE’S FOOL: Detective Sergeant Louis Cloud is a hard-boiled cop hungry for power and promotion, and he’ll do anything to get it. When a courier descends from orbit and is murdered by an armed gang who rob him of precious gemstones, DS Cloud sets eagerly upon their trail, but he quickly learns there are other forces out there – and things from other realms of reality – that will also stop at nothing to get what they want. DS Cloud’s life is literally torn apart as he plunges headlong towards a terrifying confrontation with one of the sub-princes of Hell. Thrown into this violent mix of corporate corruption and demonism is Natalya Dorganskya; previously the adorable daughter of a now deceased movie-megastar, she has turned to crime to give her the kicks she once got from a borrowed fame and fortune. Once a world-class pilot, her neural network ravaged by custom drugs, can she overcome the torments of her past to defeat the horrors of her immediate future? Non-human things that have come stalking through time and space to take back what she and her compatriots stole from the courier. David J Rodger delivers a dark and edgy vision of the near-future in a novel that reveals the boundaries between the Satanism and the Cthulhu Mythos.
I love moments like this. It doesn’t matter what the weather is like outside. Moody storm clouds and lashing rain, or the endless blue of a summer morning with cotton-wool clouds daubed pink by the early gaze of the rising sun. Outside doesn’t matter. I’m in my Sky Bunker. Three floors below me the kitchen is stocked with coffee, muscovado sugar and basic food supplies. The house is empty. I’m got my leather-bound notebook from Santiago beside me that’s been slowly filling this week (early morning’s at the Boston Tea Party cafe in Bath) with notes for the current chapter of The Social Club. Current word count stands at 80,500 and I’m close, so close to the end. Doubt I’ll finish it in the next couple days but that’s not the point. I get to spend 2 days inside my favourite place: inside my own head.
VENICE. Masked Balls and Romance. Maybe on some days but this night found me walking through a city that felt almost deserted and resembling something from a Robert W. Chambers story – where Carcosa infects the very idea of place turning into a shadowy place of slithering shadows and ever-changing features. Venice had a massive impact on my imagination and certainly helped me conjure up my visions of this no-place where Hastur, as the King in Yellow, resides. You can read more about this in the post-apocalyptic novel The Black Lake (paperback and kindle) which was described as “Atmospheric and Creepy” by the Guardian (UK media).
Venice at Night. Silent. Choked by shadows and secrets. Photo: David J Rodger
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The brief video then switches to the Piazza San Marco for a bit of daylight gambling with death as birds come strafing in close enough to take off your head. A lovely glimpse of St Mark’s Campanile which is the inspiration for a church tower erected in the North East of England, in a city called Newcastle Upon Tyne. St George’s Church, in Jesmond (or Jesus Mound) has this fantastic tower – which was the iconic structure used in the “Hasturian” short story The Corrupt Moon, available in an anthology of short stories called The Songs of Spheres.
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Photo: Jesmond Church Tower Bathed in Golden Winter Light – Newcastle upon Tyne
Feels like an age since I just spilled out my thoughts onto a screen without needing to think about structure or any particular angle (marketing).
April was a no-writing month. And I’ve taken the opportunity to devour books.
Finished The Night Circushttp://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Night-Circus-Erin-Morgenstern/dp/0099554798 Erin Morgenstern (incredible!) whilst listening to Foals – Holy Fire. Then did a lastpass proofreading of The Trellborg Monstrosities by John Houlihan, a novella that will also become a scenario for the epic and exciting kickstarter project Achtung! Cthulhu. They very kindly asked me to write an endorsement for the work. I’m flattered. Take diesel punk and set fire to the world whilst the mad chaos of the Mythos swirls in through the cracks in this reality illusion. Soundtrack was Welcome To Oblivion by How to Destroy Angels. Which also became the soundtrack for reading the mind-blowing Tau Zero by Poul Anderson. http://www.amazon.co.uk/Zero-S-F-MASTERWORKS-Poul-Anderson/dp/0575077328/ Talk about torturing your characters! My guts were twisted up and my heart was in my mouth for the days I spent reading (and suffering) it. Certainly a must-read for fans of hard science fiction.
I’m now reading Lord of Light by Roger Zelazny. www.amazon.co.uk/Lord-Light-MASTERWORKS-Roger-Zelazny/dp/0575094214 Wow!!! Cannot believe I’ve not read these wonderful creations before. So I guess you could say I’m having a bit of a personal sci-fi renaissance. This is all thanks to the horror I went through back in September to December last year; which is what led to me re-evaluating my priorities in life and ultimately to me deciding to switch my writing to one month on, one month off. These “off months” now let me have my life back. It’s amazing. I see my friends. I read books! I watch crappy movies. I almost feel normal.
April felt both long (enjoyable, savouring the absence from the obsession machine), and brief – as this weekend saw me dropping back into a creative groove. Yeah, I know, this weekend was April and technically part of the no-writing rules, but what are rules if you don’t bend or break them. Besides, May, supposedly dedicated to writing is more or less blasted into shreds and scraps of creative potential by the impending arrival of friends. A couple from Newcastle (my longest standing friend – since the age of 6 – and a truly positive human who just beat cancer, yay!!!). And my “younger brother” Sharky Bones McCoy who is bouncing over from Spain to escape the tensions of a long-term partner who is… getting over cancer.
Anybody who knows me will be aware of my penchant for dithering when I am confronted by two choices of equal appear. For example, this weekend should have been: okay, it’s April, I’m off writing, so I can wander into the city, drift around the harbour, find myself a sofa on the Grain Barge and waste several hours reading books, gazing out the wraparound wall of windows. But no. The mental bear trap snapped shut on me. I stood on the edge of the harbour, having already walked towards the Grain Barge several times and then turned back towards where my car was parked… each time, the VOICE / TASK MASTER in my head saying: ah-uh! This is technically part of your writing phase so get the hell back home and work.
HE (it) won. I spent the weekend getting back into the current novel: The Social Club.Follow work in progress here. Having not touched it for a month I was wary about how tough it would be to pick up the threads, especially as I’m now near the end of the first draft. But I’d left enough breadcrumbs “Djr: when you come back to this, this is where you were heading with Jadon Purgo” and naturally, the whole book is already mapped out with enough detail to give me the comfort of a supporting structure. I can navigate within the framework and find my character arcs within the waypoints of the plot. Take note, David Bradley (0)(-)!
Soundtrack to these days is House of Gold and Bones part 1 by Stonesour. My new car has a freaking awesome stereo system with some very tasty bass. Now the sun is FINALLY showing her beautiful rays, I’m driving around with the roof down. Fun city. Goodbye BMW and hello my new plastic toy car roadster.
David J Rodger in his tea tray roadster powered by a knitting machine
What’s coming up? Well. I was aiming to finish the new novel, The Social Club, in May but with the loss of my all important weekends it will probably not get finished until July. I’m also planning to update all my novel covers over the next few weeks. Step away from the disparate mix I’ve patched together over the last few years and actually get a proper designer involved. Watch this space as I’ll be running some free giveaways to help raise their profile once the new covers are done. Oh, I’m now on Goodreads. Check out my profile https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1242730.David_J_Rodger and add some (all?) my books to your WANT TO READ list. Ahem. :o)
Good news on the eternal struggle between spending time writing versus spending time marketing myself. I’ve now employed the time of a rather wonderful woman who runs community management services. Hopefully help push my profile out there a bit more and generate MORE SALES. More news on that later.
Right, that’s it for now. Hope you enjoyed my waffle. Nice to just cut loose and let it all out.
Dartmouth, overlooking Kingswear and harbour entrance. Photo: David J Rodger
April. 2013. You can “do” Dartmouth in a couple of hours to be sure, but there’s a great pleasure from spending more time than you need there. Through the mist you can make out the entrance to the sheltered harbor that made the tiny sea port what it is. Launch pad for the crusades of early 12th century, a den of privateers – licensed pirates – and sanctuary for the Mayflower before it ultimately made its journey across the waters to the new land in Cape Cod.
And across the water is Kingswear, where we had a steam train waiting to whisk us back through Agatha Christie country towards our hotel. Atmospheric bliss.
Just come back from a fantastic weekend in Devon. Stayed at The Grand hotel, 99 years since Agatha Christie had her honeymoon there and I’m sleeping in the very next suite. Walked down the passage to reach our door overlapping history and actual vision in my mind. The hotel is shabby with age and in need of some TLC but is chic and very comfortable; staff are excellent. Bar is fab with large sofas everywhere and great views of the sea through tall windows that dominate the exterior walls. It’s a short hop from Torquay to Paignton. Old-world train station, part museum, part cafe – the guy there makes and sells Cortada – my first one in England. There’s rolling stock from the classic days of steam and a wonderful burly locomotive, green plate and bulging curves, metal, metal, metal. Called Hercules, it spent a couple of decades rusting away on the sidings until some volunteers took on the task of restoring it. A massive mound of coal and the muffled shoomph, shoomph, shoomph as everything ticks over whilst the beast takes on water. Then we’re off. Riding the coastline and punching through squalling rain. It’s bleak but beautiful because of it. It’s very Rebecca (Daphne Du Maurier / Hitchcock). The journey is 30 minutes. You arrive in Kingswear after crossing several viaducts and the river Dart opens up to your right. Across the harbour is the small wonderful town of Dartmouth. Get off the train, walk 50 metres from the platform straight onto a ferry that takes you across. Fish and chips and a pint of real ale in the Royal Castle hotel. It doesn’t get better than that. Apart from later, back in Torquay, going for sunset walk, smothered in clouds and increasing rain, the waves crashing and booming against the harbour walls; then getting back to the Grand and flopping down in wingback armchairs in the library, in front of a roaring open fire, supping a large whisky and Drambuie (Rusty Nail). Bliss.
Here’s a video stitching together bits of the journey with plenty of steam
One of the benefits of my newwriting regime (one month off after every month of writing, in order to re-establish balance – and sanity – in my life) is the amount of books I am now ploughing through. Rather than taking months per books, sliced into 15 minute fragments of time whenever I have a moment on the Park & Ride bus, I’m now chomping through them at a respectable (for me, at least) one every week or 2 weeks.
I just finished the magical and utterly enchanting The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern. Not an easy book to get into, I actually ditched it after the first couple of chapters, sinking back into all-boy heroics of Clive Cussler (my guilty pleasure after being stuck in Newark airport last December). But something about the book held onto my mind, so I went back to it a few weeks later and then couldn’t put it down. Fantastic. Read whilst listening to Holy Fire album by the Foals; now entwined with a sense of performing magic in the realworld.
A compatriot of mine, John Houlihan, has completed a novella for the Achtung! Cthulhu genre. I’d meant to blog about Achtung! ages ago as it’s done really well on Kickstarter and has generated exceptional interest in the gaming community. So I’m extra pleased to discover John is a part of this. The novella is called The Trellborg Monstrosities and is currently going through editorial. I’ve got a late version preview. Could well become a scenario for Achtung! at a later date.
This will be the first I’ve read of this kind. But I’m getting the vibe it might be Dieselpunk crossed with Cthulhu. I’m certainly hoping it is. Will let you know.
Speeding into battle with the Mythos. Dieselpunk is steampunk with combustion.
The Butterfly Cabinet cafe, Heaton Road, Newcastle.
Best English Breakfast in the world. Photo: David J Rodger. The Butterfly Cabinet cafe in Heaton – click full size
It doesn’t get better than this. Quality. Quantity. Price. And the consistency of this cafe’s state of perfection. Every time I have ever gone there in the past few years it is always, without fail, a perfect experience. I don’t get to Newcastle as much as I used to but it’s a great place to spend time, and the Butterfly Cabinet is always on my itinerary – indeed, I’d go so far as to say it is one of the reasons I make the 320 mile journey every few months. Click here to check out the breakfast menu for the Butterfly Cabinet. The food is undoubtedly helped by the ambiance of the cafe itself, which is a blend of hipster, student and locals. A good mix without a pretentious face in sight. Just good people. And great food. Top this off with coffee that’s fit for caffeine-junkie like me and well, I just sit there with a grin on my face. It’s the kind of place that leaves the foolish folks who think Newcastle is still locked in the days of Get Carter (1971), with their slack jaws of dismay hanging in their baked beans.
Talking of places with great atmosphere, if you get to The Butterfly and find it so busy there’s a 2 hour queue of folks snaking out the door – happens often so get there EARLY, then I highly recommend you wander 60 seconds down the road to the excellent alternative, a cafe called The Wild Trapeze.
March. Means I’m back into writing after taking February “off” from the insane creative drive of the last 3 years – and following on from the three months I took off between September and December when everything in my world seemed so… dark.
David J Rodger working on new novel set in post-apocalyptic London
Taking February off wasn’t easy to do by the way; almost had fights with myself first weekend of Feb when I headed down to the harbour to relax — whilst some other part of my brain was scowling, “what are you doing? Get back home. You should be writing!” This is the voice that’s been whip-lashing me all these years. It’s been highly productive. Four novels, one RPG (plus a complete re-write for version 2.5) and a major campaign book (Shadows of the Quantinex) since 2007. But there comes a point when you look at the things you’re not doing with your life whilst focussing so much energy in just one area…
Anyhow, I really enjoyed Feb. Managed to do a lot of social things and other bits and pieces that would normally be considered “getting in the way” of the creative process. Have I found balance? Who knows. I’ve now got to cold-start the engine and see if the words will flow — or if I splutter and cough dank fetid fumes from lack of use. Whatever, I’m now back into The Social Club – novel #8 – picking up where I left off: Senior Verifier Jadon Purgo in trouble with the Power of Eight Group in a post-apocalyptic version of London, ten years after the event known as Yellow Dawn struck the Earth.
The Wild Trapeze cafe, Heaton, Newcastle Upon Tyne – great atmosphere
January 2013 and I’m back in Newcastle. The city where I grew up until the age of 21 before heading south and west. I’m back up, on a now rare visit to meet friends. I’m in Heaton, where I spent the first 9 years of my life – including a period of time that overlapped with the filming of a movie that holds an utterly bleak portrayal of the North East at that time: Get Carter (1971). Friends take me to a new cafe that’s just opened up, called The Wild Trapeze. Hard to believe this is Heaton. But then, if you’ve ever experienced the utterly incredible cafe The Butterfly (over the road) you’ll start to see the trend that is forming here. The Wild Trapeze has good coffee, nice food, great space and wonderful atmosphere. Certainly worth some of your time to check out if you visit the area – and hang out.
David J Rodger in the The Wild Trapeze cafe, Heaton, Newcastle Upon Tyne
Lone Pine playing Fury of Dracula (1987) in Heaton, Newcastle Upon Tyne
So it’s only 2 months since my good friend Pete, aka Lone Pine and I last hooked up. Not bad considering we live 320 miles apart. I travelled up to my old stomping ground of Newcastle Upon Tyne, and to Heaton – where I actually grew up between the ages of zero and 9 before relocating to the more verdant landscape of Jesus Mound. It’s late. Everyone has gone to bed. Pete and I crack open the whisky and set up the board. We also find Francis Ford Coppola’s movie Dracula – with Gary Oldman and Anthony Hopkins (as Van Helsing) – on YouTube and so have it playing in the background. It’s one of my favourite interpretations of the classic story. And with a fantastic musical score, the whole room came alive with the atmosphere and adventure of the movie. 3 games in a row. Some of the most perfect and memorable games ever. Ever.
18:56 GMT. Saturday night. I’m dressed-up in a smart crisp white cotton shirt, waistcoat and suit jacket – a pair of deep blue jeans and light brown leather shoes with square-cut toes. Heading out to Cheltenham tonight – up the motorway – to go to a 1920s art deco picture house that’s now a rather lovely place to eat. The Daffodil. Meeting good friends there.
David Soul as Ben Mears looks upon the Marsten House in mute horror
Whereas last night I was wearing two weeks beard growth and slobbed-out on one of the two sofas in the front room, supping a tall glass of whisky coke – heavy on the whisky. It was Friday night and the end of a tough week. Work is very intense. Has been for weeks. Several large projects running at once. I bought Salem’s Lot on a whim from Amazon. So lying on the sofa I started watching it. My god. It’s still just as good as I remember it. I haven’t watched it since my late teens. This is a movie I grew up with during early teens. And watching it now, into my early 40s, I’m struck by so many things. I’m older now than David Soul was as the protagonist within the movie. I’m conscious of the dated 1970s furnishings. Of the Californian landscape masquerading as New England. But more than anything, I’m keen aware of the delicious mood of creeping horror that pervades the interlocking character plays and set-pieces. And watching Ben Mears – the horror writer – returning to sit within the concavity that shaped his early life with trauma and fear, I’m acutely aware of the influence this movie had upon my own young teenage mind. Is Ben Mears the reason I became a horror writer? Partly so, I reckon. That and the potent effect that H.P.Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos cycle of work had upon me around the same time.
EDIT:
Monday morning. 08:11 GMT. It was a good weekend. The Daffodil was excellent. Great to spend time soaking in the atmosphere of another century: 1920s bliss. So much for my new regime of taking a month off for every 2 months spent writing – an attempt to prevent the creative obsession from dominating so much of my life. I spent a lot of Saturday and some of Sunday working on The Social Club- now up to 44,500 words. Senior Verifier Jadon Purgo is having the “comfortable” paradigm of the last few years of his life shaken to the core. The veils are dropping from his eyes. Life as a survivor, in London, surrounded by Dead Zone is just about to become very dangerous for him.
I also received the first part of a work-in-progress by voice artist Cody Johnson; he’s turning my short story The Masters of Chaos into an audio. Jesus… incredible. Sent shivers down my spine and a tingle of pure delight in my brain. I love the story. It’s one of my favourites, but he’s absolutely nailed the narrative style I wanted to achieve. So I’m looking forward to making it available soon, although I need to wrap some PR around it so I can actually gain some benefit for the work I’m paying for. Watch this space.
St George’s Church tower – Jesmond. Photo: David J Rodger
I adore this church. I’m not a religious person but the structure itself holds a lot of meaning for me. Based on St Mark’s Campanile in Venice it is also the sole inspiration for the potent Cthulhu Mythos short story I wrote back in 2011 called Corrupt Moon – tapping into the sanity shattering consequences of the Influence of Hastur. The story available in the anthology Songs of Spheres.
The tower stands head and shoulders above the rest of Jesmond – a beacon and a landmark – visible for a couple of miles all around.
SONGS OF SPHERES: 15 short stories hand-picked by the author as his personal favourites and presented with a brief introduction to each story. There are monsters that squirm and slither through the dark spaces beneath our feet, our dead are like carrion to them; and us, the living, are often victims of their hunger for violence and their taste in blood and terror. There are men and women who prey on the predators – a rough justice or karma in action. Technology carries information beyond the wires but what else can ride the electromagnetic waves? Demonic forces that infiltrate the mind through the new technology implants of the cyberpunk era. In dream-like realms, brave souls adventure deep into the strange worlds conjured by far flung minds. What mysteries do they discover and what secrets do they bring back with them into physical flesh and the reality of Humankind? The King in Yellow regards Earth from behind a pallid mask of silk; reposed on a throne of madness, corruption and decay within the black tower that stands beyond Carcosa. Hastur – the Great Old One that must not be named – the bearer of the Yellow Sign, has been brought forth. In tales of Yellow Dawn the consequences are here for those who dare to see. WARNING: some of these stories contain scenes of a disturbing and sexual nature.
Tynemouth Pier North East England. Photo: David J Rodger
I adore this pier. Best experienced in wild stormy weather. I used to have to run the length of it and back during school runs. God I hated those but it never spoiled my appreciation of this magnificent structure plunging out into the North Sea.
I originally wrote this murder mystery game for a friend’s birthday dinner party. I normally write novels so this was a good challenge and a lot of fun to create. The reaction from the dinner guests was really positive. I wanted to provoke argument and debate against a background of fun and laughter. I wanted people to really fight their corner to prove their innocence, with tongues firmly planted in cheek, or avoid suspicion by pointing the accusatory finger at somebody else.
05:30 GMT. Feels like an age since I’ve done this. Being awake and up at excito’clock and writing anything personal. Right now the world beyond the glass canopy behind my head is wrapped in snow and ice: Bristol, like most of England, got hit by a massive snow dump on Friday. Life support is blowing warmth across my lower legs, resting in its faithful position on the floor to the right of my chair – resting on a thin hardback volume about the rather fabulous history of my favourite bar in New York: The Ear Inn (check it out – it’s away from the main drag and is quite a place).
Life’s been busy with Christmas and New Year – hosting friends from Spain, indulging in games, home-cooked meals, wine and cosy nights in front of a roaring fire. Switching off and taking it easy.
Cosy night in front of the fire with friends. Photo: David J Rodger
I’m back into writing after taking “three months out ” at the end of 2012. An episode of psychological DOOM that slammed me to the floor and held me there for a while. Back into the flow of The Social Club. Chilly mornings in the Boston Tea Party cafebefore work, supping strong Americanos and fleshing out notes with pen in my leather-bound notebook from Santiagio. Or weekend mornings tucked away in my “new” find, a place I used to go to a decade or so ago – Cafe Amore- just on the edge of Bristol’s city centre.
I’m also doing a LOT of reading. Keeping the writing in check with some new personal rules about how much time I give to my… obsession. Reading has become my new pleasure. Early evenings, me sitting with a pint of dark ale in a “medieval” pub in the cobbled lanes of the Georgian stone spa town of Bath – a book in the other hand. Love it.
Funny, actually, talking to a good friend recently about writing and how I’m keeping it in check: I stopped mid-sentence as a thought struck me, that I was talking about writing as if it was a mental health problem. My friend chuckled, relating to the idea. I suppose it has that potential. The obsession that drives a writer to shape and give birth to new worlds. Or really to indulge in the self-gratifying experience of spending hours sitting amongst the movie reels and excitement of your imagination.
Well, it looks like it’s going to be another cold day out there. Time to brew up another coffee and step into Chapter Nine of the new novel in progress.
Have a great day everyone.
Take a peek at seven sci-fi dark fantasy novels here.
There’s nothing ahead of me except a lot more of the same hard work
Finally feeling some positive state of mind after a hellish few days; the overhaul of Yellow Dawn – The Age of Hastur (2.1) to create a new fandangled version 2.5 has been going 10 months now and it’s really dragging down my spirits. It’s not like writing a novel.
All Hail The Chaos That Stalks The Space Between the Stars
Sitting here wrapped in the woolly embrace of Starsky Cardi, supping first mug of tea – and ignoring the massive crack that’s now appeared in the outward sloping roof of this room. The Sky Bunker looks set to let the sky in! *rolls eyes*
Currently listening to a tribal electro trance mix put out by the very awesome blog, A Strangely Isolated Place. Check him out and subscribe if you want a range of electro flavours dropping into your inbox every few days. This
Azathoth
I can’t believe how long January seemed to last. It was the month of Forever-ember-uary.
However, January did see me manage to finally complete the edit for the overhaul of Yellow Dawn; after 10 months of painful progress and hard work. Now I’m wrapped in the evening tasks of formatting the document as I prepare version 2.5 for launch in the next few weeks.
I’ve also started prepping the next novel for launch; Living in Flames – a near-future (cyberpunk) horror story set in Bristol:
I think I’ve been burning the candle at both ends too long, and with a blowtorch. The final push to finish the 11 months of hell, re-writing Yellow Dawn; I’ve popped out the other side with a sense of grinning blissful relief… but also the (foolish) notion I can continue with the intense pace, switching to a raft of new shiny things I’ve got lined up to roll out. Instead… I’ve succumbed to exhaustion.
On top of this, my house – Cosy Castle – is falling apart, or at least that’s how it seems. The big crack in the roof of the Sky Bunker continues to worsen and now leaks every time it rains, leaving trails of rusty water running down the inside of the wall – in one way appropriate for a writer who works with gritty horror and post-apocalyptic vistas, but living in it causes an acute sense of stress. Added to this, now have water getting into the kitchen through a flawed back-wall; electrics have blown again. So, phone calls made, contractors coming round to evaluate damage and work required to make repairs. The joys of owning a house that’s 130 years old.
The Alan Parsons Project – Eve – Soundtrack to the moment
I got down here Friday morning, took the day off work, hired a car (I’m wary of my Rocket doing long journey’s at the moment) and drove down here. Big Pete, who this house belongs to, was there to greet me with a 6ft 2″ hug and big grin. He’s been here since Wednesday. He lives in Newcastle and until recently was the neighbour of my parents place up there…. but that’s all dead now.
The drive down was fantastic.
The whole morning was shrouded in drifting banks of fog.
Completed Songs of Spheres, anthology of my short stories (horror, cyberpunk, and Yellow Dawn).
Arriving at Hayling Island there’s a palpable of excitement and relief. We’re here! Now we can decompress. All of us have been experiencing high volumes of stress with work. Abruptly we’re in a large empty and comfortable (blokey) house and there is no plan, no agenda, no schedule to keep to. The only thing we know we’ll be doing is playing Yellow Dawn tomorrow. This trip follows the rules of The Fellowship – a group of individuals and friends that I sometimes go travelling with… the rules are this: nobody tells anybody what they HAVE to do. Everybody is free to go off and do their own thing or join the group or… whatever. It’s easy. It’s relaxed and stress free.
Got hit by a weird strain of man-flu last week that had me nailed last weekend and most of last week. Morning’s would wake-up feeling OK but by time I’d gotten into the office in Bath, I’d be feeling like the walking dead and by time the evening swung round I was tripping out and feeling like I was drunk. Exhaustion was close on the trail.
Meanwhile I’ve been working on a super exciting new bolt-on for Yellow Dawn (The Age of Hastur) and a bunch of ideas that also fit snugly into the wider universe of my fiction writing.
Called Nanomech and Synthology, it facilitates characters buying pre-configured clumps of nanotechnology, but more importantly, clumps that can be re-configured by tech-heads into new and diverse creations, using deployment code templates. Of course, those characters with less skill than great ideas will experience the joys of aberrant technological mutations. Counter to this is the parallel technology of synthetic biology: splicing existing genetic code together to create new “things”; from bacteria able to eat up oil spills to larger and more complex organisms that can do… whatever you can dream of, so long as you can get past ethical and moral issues of intelligent and self-destiny.
Get to London. Short walk to Victoria train station but we’re early. Kill some time at a Pret Manger: standing there in the big window by a narrow bench, munching on a salmon cream cheese slice of heaven, I’m aware of the number of glances and stares I’m picking up. It’s the suit. Jo and I grin about it.
We return back to Victoria and find that the tiny little Orient Express check-in office is now open; tucked away beside platform 2. There are two impeccably dressed women outside, serving coffee from flasks; they’re smiling and genuinely welcoming and not at all what you would normally get from service. Everything is groomed to make YOU feel special. The personal egos (and mood) of the staff are subsumed within the larger identity of the company. It’s an immediate and enchanting effect.
Then the train pulls into the station and there’s an electrifying crackle of anticipation from all the gathered passengers. Local trains pulling into the station disgorge commuter passengers who pause or slow their stride to take notice of this spectacle of a bygone era: a platform of smartly dressed passengers making their way inside the Orient Express.
A tiny island 18 miles long by 9 miles wide with 7,000 years of human history crammed down on top of it in compressed layers. I had no idea how potent the history of the country is, and how vital a role it has played in so much history involving Europe and the Middle East since time immemorial – occupying a central position in the heart of the Mediterranean sea. It may as well be a floating fortress. A staging post for armies throughout history. From neolithic settlers who arrived 7,000 years ago from Sicily, to the Phoenicians with their “imperial” purple dye (20,000 Murex shells were needed for 1 gram of dye) and the Romans – with their Punic wars – and then the Muslims, the Knights of St John, the Normans, the French with Napoleon treating the Christian island like his own penny jar to raid to fund the campaign in Egypt, and then Nelson and the British. In general, the Maltese people are wonderfully friendly, hospitable and respectful. They go out of their way to make sure you’re having a lovely time and the price of things is reasonable, rather than being a tourist rip-off accompanied by cynical service. If you’ve not been to Malta before then I can’t recommend the place highly enough.
Strumble Head Lighthouse – evening view from remote cottage in Wales
The lighthouse was set dramatically against the night sky, a beam of light circling around it. This amazing sight sits a little over a mile from the cottage. It greeted me in the morning when I supped my first mug of coffee, and it enchanted me every night as I stood by the window, staring, supping wine and listening to “Montok Point” by William Orbit.
It was the Royal Diamond Jubilee celebration. Rented a cottage for the week. A fantastic place, with two bedrooms, two bathrooms (master en-suite) and an utterly cosy open plan living room, kitchen and breakfast bar (which became my study for the entire week). Strumble head occupies a rugged headland on the far west coast, a region called Pembrokeshire. Insanely beautiful coastline, cliffs, blue sea crashing on rocks, wild birds and seals. Most wonderful of all was a lighthouse, sitting on a fang of rock sitting out in the surging sea – a stubby metal mesh bridge connecting it to the mainland.
Welcome to England. Summer and it’s pissing down. This was back on Thursday last week. The longest day of the year. I’d wanted to be with family up in the arctic, celebrating with a bottle of whisky sitting in a rowing boat on a fjord under the magical glow of the Midnight Sun. However events here have kept me UK bound for the next few weeks. Plus I’m getting near the end of a new novel - The Black Lake – and writing within a momentum is important at this stage.
A couple of good friends of mine suggested a return to Clifton Lido, a shallow outdoor pool surrounded by grand Georgian houses in the hidden heart of Bristol’s upper echelons. Last time I went there was back in November when the temperature was close to zero oC – swimming with steam rising off your body (swimming under the stars & cocktails). And like then, this visit was superb. A visceral experience, where your bare body is subjected to the raw elements. In this case – sheets of chilly rain. However, it comes with the blissful escape clause of luxury sauna, steam room and jacuzzi placed within trotting distance of the pool, walls of thickened glass providing a two-way view of both worlds; the external elements and the internal comfort.
Back in May, whilst watching the Olympic flame being brought into Bristol, I struck up conversation with a young couple sitting beside me on the edge of the river; instant friendship. One of those moments when you just “know”. Later I took them to the Grain Barge and in that busy crowded place there was only one free table – a solitary bloke sitting there minding his own business. I asked if we could share the table and we promptly took over – and included him in the unfolding of new friendships. This was Jeff – and like the young couple – Chesney and Ginny – became instant and very close friends. One of the most wonderful things to have happened this year if I think about it.
This was the weekend I was furiously working towards the end of the new novel, The Black Lake. Fingers blurring over the keyboard all Saturday – using my Da Vinci method (polyphasic sleep) to keep spiking my brain with freshness. Come Saturday night – I was so near to finishing and yet just not there. Close but no cigar. In a remarkable example of how I’m managing to fight back against the internal beast that tries to covet all my time, I closed down the laptop – got dressed up and went out and joined friends for a night of fun. Freaking glad I did. Awesome night. Which is pretty much the standard for any time I’ve gone to the Big Chill Bar. People rocked up with great costumes and wide smiles.
If Pete had chosen to live anywhere else, it wouldn’t have been so weird to go back. But now I’m walking through the echoes of my deepest past.
I went “home” to Newcastle last week. I say home, but I’m faced by the reality that the place I grew up in, the house that was my family home for the past 31 years now has a locked door. It might sound a little dramatic but ever since I could remember – every time I came back to Newcastle, my experience of getting home has revolved around the same routine – a bus or plane ride to Newcastle, then the Metro to (W) Jesus Mound and then the walk through familiar streets that I’ve pounded since being 9 years old. And always ending at the same destination. Kosekroken. My dad died when I was 36. But I still went home. My mum died when I was 39 – but the house then belonged to us (children), and I still went back.
August. My mate bought a hot air balloon for his company. And it was making a debut here at the Bristol International Balloon Fiesta. He invited us to join him in the VIP area. Getting there we found ourselves wading through 300,000 people in a tightly cordoned area. Freaking intense – but finally made our way to the gated entrance where we were able to step past security, through into the wide open space of the central field where several dozen balloons where lying deflated – waiting for darkness to come. Great atmosphere – especially being able to lounge around nice tables in the comfort and space away from the massive crowds.
Once it was dark, the Night Glow begins. All the balloons inflate over 30 minutes or so and then abruptly the darkness is swept away by the roaring blast of burners lighting up the night. Magical. Especially being so close to the action. Although we soon got much closer.
Krakow invites you to walk its cobbled and paved streets. It is a walking city. The Old Market is a VAST open space surrounded by beautiful buildings and even the large clusters of bric-a-brac stalls doesn’t rob any notion of the space that’s available to you. The edges of lined by rows of chairs and tables beneath umbrellas. And unlike most cities where the local establishments try to rip you off for sitting somewhere nice, here you can sit and enjoy a drink and some nibbles from bright and friendly staff.
I have a friend called Jake. I met him in Bristol in 1997 when he was bouncing between worlds with his wife (of that period). I gave them a place to stay when they needed one. Eventually they would be the couple who gave me their bed for a week in Vancouver (2003). After 2003 I didn’t see Jake again until he came to visit me in Bristol in 2008, this time with a new partner (Mags); meanwhile he’s been through the many ups and downs that the journey of life can throw you through. Toronto and Berlin have seen him arrive and go. And now here he is, living in Krakow. So, in line with our tradition of seeing each other every 4 or 5 years, we hook up on my first night in Krakow. I walk down into the old Jewish quarter: Kazimierz. There’s a bar called Singer’s – every table is an old sewing machine. And later we’re eating the most amazing Russian dumplings at a place that has 28 different types of dumpling on the menu. I could have lived there.
Auschwitz. A deeply thought provoking place. Our guide got us inside and then left us to it. I cut loose and made my own route. What really got me was the built-up, almost urban structure of the place. Like the dormitories of some private school, or a government complex from the war era. But then you look at the twin rows of electrified barbed wire – enough juice to kill you, which is how some people ended their lives by just throwing themselves against the wires – and you visualise the thuggish guards with their sticks, machine guns and dogs. And so many people confined in this organised hell.
There’s a lot of contextual information placed there as you walk between and through the buildings. Auschwitz has become a museum. A record of human barbarism and atrocity in a time that is only yesterday. It is a beacon of warning to the new generations: may we never let it happen again.
Most chilling for me was the death wall. A courtyard between two blocks. A doorway in the side of one building (#11) led straight from the washroom out into the courtyard where people were summarily shot – or subjected to prolonged public torture. Black and white drawings, as large as life, give you a visual inkling of what it could have been like. But only a numb whiff of the true emotional horror.
It was my birthday the other day. I was trying to recall the last time I’d actually celebrated it – always away or “too busy” writing to bother. I think it was when I was 25.
So a last-minute text to a bunch of folks living in Bristol led to a fantastic night at the Grain Barge, an old boat moored up on the edge of the harbour loaded with smiles and the best local ales (Bristol Beer Factory) this side of the planet.
It was lovely to see disparate clusters of friends and new individuals come together in one place; many of them had never met each other before – only knowing me. So it was great to see new connections forming and conversations flowing. Fab cake from The Crew.
Everything changes <> My entire world seems to detonate – extreme personal trauma leads to acute insomnia
BOOM – Nothing Can Ever Be The Same Again
It started like just an ordinary day… new job – followed by decision to stop writing, which opened up deep hidden subconscious floodgates – fresh stress in the form of my parents house (£££) – going 5 days without sleep nearly drove me mad – a month later I went 10 days without sleep… and I did go mad. The horror show lasted from September right through into December.
Taormina – overlooking the sea as Vincent Brent would have done. Iconic image for me. Hope and dreams of the future.
Not Italy. That’s the way they view it. I was in Malta back in May. Toured around various archeological and city-based sites, hired guides, did the whole thing. Bloody amazing place. Getting back I was hungry for more of the same-same but different. Whilst visiting some of the neolithic temples on Malta the guide stated that the people who settled there 5,000 years ago came from Sicily. Bingo, great excuse to go there then. Booked the flights and accommodation near Agrigento and in the heart of Taormina.
Taormina was actually the primary reason for going to Sicily. I’ve never been there before in reality, but back in 1997 and again in 2004 I went there for a long period of time in my mind and imagination: I used the cliff-based town as a location for major scenes that take place in two novels, Dante’s Fool andIron Man Project. So I was super excited about the chance to finally go there in the flesh and walk in the footsteps of some of my favourite characters: Natalya Dorganskya, Vincent Brent and the ubiquitous Jean-Luc Korda.
Flew into Catania and caught a ride to just outside Agrigento. Not much happening there but it’s right next door to the Valley of the Temples and provided an opportunity to switch-off and chill out with a reasonable (and slightly random) hotel. Down-time was a big need, for taking a break from the punishing writing regime I’ve been under for several years.
I’m also delighted to find the Return of the Mood (my weird scrambled sensory phenomenon that occurs every few months).
Actor David Suchet (Hercule Poirot ) shakes hands with David J Rodger
Getting back to England the post-travel blues were swept away by a swift visit to Cheltenham where I got to enjoy an audience with the actor David Suchet, as he discussed his career to date, and the very special contribution he has made to the wonders of Agatha Christie. On the 15th October he’ll be starting filming of the very last Poirot story – roughly 23 days of filming; followed by filming of the previous and final four stories (The LeMesurier Inheritance is being bundled into The Labours of Hercules). Once completed, it will make David Suchet the only actor to have ever completed performances of every Poirot story in Christie’s canon of work. Something the man should be very proud of because he has done such a wonderful job of it. David Suchet is one of the few genuine heroes I hold in my mind. So it was an insane treat to be able to meet him at a little area later, shake his hand and share some words with him: I spoke about the Simplon Orient Express – his visible pleasure of being able to ride it to Venice, how I thought his performance in Murder on the Orient Express was sublime. The man is an absolute gentleman charmer – and a secret comedian. Very intelligent. Very witty. Fantastic to meet and talk to.
For hours later, I kept looking at my hand thinking… wow. I shook hands with Hercule Poirot.
New York – Freedom Tower Rises – Viewed from Staton Island Ferry
Against the backdrop of weeks of personal trauma and insomnia I take a trip to the great playground that is New York. It’s through this trip that I discover the core reason for the personal crash I’m going through is delayed grief over the death of my parents. Writing every hour I wasn’t working or asleep is what has kept this grief at bay for 3 (plus) years. I stopped writing in September – and VOOOMP – everything dark and painful bubbled up to the surface.
Despite this – the trip was good.
It was a Tuesday night, New York in late November – a chill wind blowing in off the river and my friends and I were hurrying from a rendezvous at Bryant Park, just behind New York Central Library, to meet another friend on 9th avenue. Fate had us trudging quickly along 38th Street between 5th and 6th avenues, racing to get to 9th. I pass this place and literally screech to a stop. Something about the interior, the design, the glimpse of the ambience registered on lots of levels. And then I saw the words: Chinese Dumplings. One of my favourite things.
As I stood there, gawping some random bloke walked past and called over to me, “Man! That place is AMAZING!” So…. a couple days later I return. This time not in a rush to meet anybody AND feeling rather peckish. The owner and I got talking and he just blew me away with his generous and energetic spirit. Great atmosphere. Great business. And GREAT food.
But those quibbles aside, The Black Lake was good fun: short, atmospheric and creepy. Having read tons of zombie novels, and horror novels, I’m surprised a publisher hasn’t snapped this one up, as it could definitely hold its own alongside more traditionally published genre material. If I had the time, I wouldn’t mind returning to check out some of Rodger’s other novels, set in the Yellow Dawn world.
If you’re the kind of person who considers the limit of board games to be Cluedo, Monopoly and maybe a little bit of Risk then hopefully this post will inspire you to check out and acquire (if you’re lucky enough to find a rare copy still available) a copy of what is, in my opinion, one of the most perfect games ever created.
Fury of Dracula was released in 1987 by Games Workshop following its creation by Stephen Hand. I purchased a copy in 1990 whilst living in Osbourne Avenue (Jesmond) in Newcastle Upon Tyne – I was 19 and enjoying the “perfect shared-house” experience. A blissful bubble period of my life that overlapped with the first few months of me starting out (rather wistfully and naively) to become an author of horror novels. That aside, the game came to dominate the sultry summer evenings of that year as my close friend Richy and I played session after session for weeks. To the point that whenever I see the lid of the box the game comes within, I’m always drawn back to potent memories of my small room within the eaves of the house and the garret window that overlooked the graveyard across the road – and the heat of those nights, despite the window being wide open. Candles burning. Spooky music playing. Perfect atmosphere for this game of gothic adventure.
A fantastic Christmas and New Year period – one of the best ever <> a period of healing and a gradual return to writing since I stopped in September
Christmas 2012 – photo by David J Rodger – All Rights Reserved
It wasn’t the kind of Christmas I normally have – but it was still perfect, for so many reasons. Friends and the comfort of another person’s family; warmth, people; Cluedo and Dominion; roast gammon victory.
New York Chinese Food – Spring – 36 West 38th Street, New York, NY – Chinese boiled dumplings to die for
It was a Tuesday night, New York in late November – a chill wind blowing in off the river and my friends and I were hurrying from a rendezvous at Bryant Park, just behind New York Central Library, to meet another friend on 9th avenue. Fate had us trudging quickly along 38th Street between 5th and 6th avenues, racing to get to 9th. I pass this place and literally screech to a stop. Something about the interior, the design, the glimpse of the ambience registered on lots of levels. And then I saw the words: Chinese Dumplings. One of my favourite things.
As I stood there, gawping some random bloke walked past and called over to me, “Man! That place is AMAZING!” So…. a couple days later I return. This time not in a rush to meet anybody AND feeling rather peckish. The owner and I got talking and he just blew me away with his generous and energetic spirit. Great atmosphere. Great business. And GREAT food.
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38th Street between 5th & 6th best Chinese food near Bryant Park and New York Library
Best restaurants in New York – Manhattan – Spring – best Chinese dumplings in the city – 38th Street, New York, NY
November. The owner’s wife studied fashion in London – living there for 6 years. Now they’re back in the US she’s applied her creative skills to the interior design of the place. It’s spacious and has a lovely atmosphere. I really can’t recommend this place enough.
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VITAL INFO
Telephone Orders: (212) 768-4226
Top review(s): Cute place love the lighting. Nice decoration and sweet staff
