Journal

Where I post about the things that happened in my life. Sometimes they’re diary entries, sometimes works of non-fiction, sometime just random photographs.

So there’s this pub…

PETERMBALL Journal

There’s this pub I drive past on the way to work that’s advertising motorized esky races to celebrate Australia Day. And you know, if I’m honest, I see that sign and my first thought is, seriously, what the fuck is wrong with this country.

Except there’s nothing wrong with this country, not in the way I’m meaning it. It’s not that I dislike the idea of a motorized esky – there’s a pro-wrestler, James Storm, who used one for his ring entrance for the better part of a year, and I largely found it hilarious.

I don’t like the idea of motorized esky races ’cause I don’t like the idea of the people who think that’s acceptable way to celebrate….well, anything. ‘Cause I’m a snob, in a lot of ways, and ’cause it’s easier to dislike people than it is to try and understand them.

And ’cause the same pub, years ago, was a dingy little hole that used to have a Goth night run in its basement. It was a place where people came to be freaks and weirdos, to drink wine and wear a lot of black. It was the first place I ever got to dance to Release the Bats with other people. One time, if I remember correctly, we missed the last train home ’cause we insisted on dancing to it. Not a big deal, in and of itself, but we were Gold Coast kids and walking home wasn’t really an option.

I have good memories of that pub. Or, at least, what that pub used to be, back before someone realised it was in a prime bit of real estate and transformed it into this upscale bar that doesn’t look like it’d welcome any kind of goth into the venue. Not even the kind of half-arsed, we-came-from-the-Gold-Coast goth kids we were, all fucking six or seven of us, which largely meant…well, longing. Dreaming of a place that wasn’t where we were from.

This is one of those things I think about when people ask where ideas for stories come from.

And seriously, fuck the esky races. That shit is just sad.

The Long Run

PETERMBALL Journal

Ask most people who know me, and they’ll probably tell you I’m one pessimistic mother-fucker. Mostly, near as I can tell, this is ’cause I have opinions on things, and ’cause most folks aren’t willing to accept that “being critical of something” and “not liking something” aren’t the same thing.

It’s also ’cause I’d rather watch something that’s poorly made, but ambitious than technically accomplished, but soulless. I like to see flaws. I like to see people trying, stretching themselves, aiming higher than they usually would. I’ve said it before, and I’ll keep saying it: every story is a mission statement; every climax is a world-view.

But then, I’m me. I would think things like that.

Truth is, like most pessimists, I’m actually fairly optimistic. I like to believe the world can change, even if it doesn’t. I like to believe that I can change it, even if it’s just a little at a time; blog post by blog post, story by story, argument by argument. I like to think the things I want to achieve in life are achievable, even if they’re slightly unrealistic.

And, most of the time, experience proves me right on that front. Maybe not as fast as I’d like, and maybe the changes aren’t as drastic, but there are days when I kick back and think, yep, the world, it’s fucked, but maybe it’s a little less fucked than it was yesterday.

It’s just that there are as many days when, shit, the world just makes me want to weep.

Some days, the thing that makes me want to weep is me. I’ve tried something and failed. I wanted to do better, and instead I did worse. I gave up on something, got afraid of something, generally failed to live up the standards I want to live up too.

And that’s okay, in the long run. It gives me the opportunity to do better tomorrow.

Reasons to Love the Dayjob

PETERMBALL Journal

Went back to work at the day-job today. Discovered that the Queensland Writers Center has been dubbed one of the best arts organisations to work at in 2013, which is utterly true, but not for the reasons that are listed in the article. It cites the vast scope of QWCs partnerships and the sprawling Queensland lifestyle as the key reasons for wanting a job there.

And, you know, fair enough.

But QWC isn’t my first ride of the pony when it comes to having a day-job that looks idyllic from the outside. It is, however, the first time I’ve enjoyed working a day-job as much as I expected to enjoy it when I started. That’s got nothing to do with the Queensland heat and the cozy Queensland arts scene.

What matters to me, what makes it a fucking kick-ass place to work, is this:

1) The work matters. I can look at what we do, see how benefits people, and it’s something I care about. It’s also hard, which means occasionally there are weeks where I could go at the world with a bazooka, but even those weeks are worthwhile when you look at the overall picture.

2) The people rock. I mean, my co-workers are fucking awesome. Seriously some of the coolest people I’ve ever had the privlidge to know, and for the most part they aren’t folks I’d befriend under regular circumstances. I like getting to know smart, passionate people who care about what they’re doing, and these folks do.

3) Genrecon. Back again in 2013 and still pretty much my dream project.

Everything else is gravy.