So that’s that, then

Here’s a photo I prepared earlier, when I thought I was leaving my employment at the Herald and Weekly Times in October, 2019. Not so back then.

But now, here we are, my last shift behind me, at least for the foreseeable.

This would have marked my 32nd year in newspaper journalism. How the industry has changed since I first walked through the door of the Maryborough Chronicle as a fourth-year cadet journalist, my first job after leaving uni.

Am I leaving it or did it leave me?

There’s more that could be said, but … nah. Tonight, I’m out of words, in print or otherwise. A big dip of the hat, though, to those erstwhile colleagues who made the journey what it was. Good journos, good photographers, good artists. Good people. Great people. Colleagues and friends.

Unlike some of them – many of them – I’ve been able to leave on my own terms.

Anyway, looks like I’m out of the newspaper game. I know, never say never … I’m looking forward to having my nights and my weekends back, but man, I’m gonna miss the team.

At Clancy’s, and Lee’s, and Zena’s

jason nahrung by kirstyn mcdermott

Pic by Kirstyn McDermott

Hm, seems not only am I couch surfing in old Bris Vegas at the moment but online as well;
this year, I’ve talked to:

  • Clancy Tucker about journalism and writing, and
  • Lee Battersby about writing fetishes (there’s a bunch of us, revealing our fancies, or not — I got hooked on music), and
  • Zena Shapter about writing to music (well, we had to nominate a tune, and I went with a track from Attrition — make a playlist from all 57 respondents here).
  • Fun, visiting! Next, I’m off to Bundaberg. Most excellent.

    Feed by Mira Grant: the flavour really hits you

    feed by mira grant

    Feed is a clever zombie novel from pseudonymous Mira Grant, right down to its title: not only does it refer to the famed zombie appetite, but to western society’s appetite for connectivity – hence the RSS symbol on the cover.

    In the world of Feed, the zombies reign. Created by a little-understood man-made contagion, the reanimated dead roam the wilds while an underpopulated and “uninfected” society lives in communes rated by risk. Travel has been reduced to a bare minimum, and the media – a major focus of the story’s plot – has suffered a severe reversal. Traditional news providers now face serious competition from bloggers, who have organised into their own corporations vying for ratings and the dollars they bring with them (I’m sure Rupert Murdoch would be fascinated by their income model!) to feed the connectivity needs of a largely sedentary and isolationist population. The bloggers are broken into distinct zones of interest: fictionals, who write stories that may or may not be based on current events (including slash); newsies, who act as journalists; and Irwins, nicknamed after Australia’s croc hunter Steve, who are the daredevils of the blogosphere, risking life and limb for the sake of entertainment.

    Feed’s core characters comprise one of each: sister Georgia (George, newsie) and Irwin brother Shaun and their tech-savvy fictional “Buffy”. The Morgans are rather special, having been, Bindi-like, raised in the spotlight of the blogosphere since the zombie outbreak was hijacked by their parents as a fame platform. This, and the zombie death of their infant brother, informs the pair’s relationship. It’s a lovingly rendered co-dependency and one of the book’s great strengths.

    The story is told primarily from George’s point of view, with neat quotes from various blog posts by her and others.

    We are given the history of the outbreak and how the world has changed since, how technology and society have evolved to deal with the new circumstances. It’s very clever and quite believable (insomuch as you can make a zombie plague believable).

    The story follows the trio as they are invited to join the election campaign of a US senator running for the presidency. And here is where it goes slightly off-track, with opposing forces acting in not entirely logical ways to achieve their outcomes, and the reactions of the public and officialdom likewise conforming more to authorial need than real-world likelihood. That a key piece of evidence required to trigger the story’s conclusion is handed over on a platter further diminishes the trajectory.

    And yet these are small things that could’ve been overlooked were it not for the most annoying factor of all: the Morgans. Georgia is 22 but already jaded and cynical, the bearer of a noxious self-importance that erodes her likability as the story progresses. She and her team know more about everything than everyone they meet: politicians, security staff, experienced journalists are all minnows by comparison. Even their technology is superior to that of the American secret service. Her single-minded dedication to the ‘truth’ puts her into the category of fanatic, and fanatics are by their very nature, unreliable, unsociable and boorish. Not really what you want for a main character, and one who espouses her own virtues with such cocky assurance for more than 550 pages.

    From what we see of Shaun, he suffers a similar ego-centric view of his place in the world.

    There is an element of self-delusion that Grant reveals, most tellingly when George sets out to rip into a candidate whose policies she doesn’t like. Vowing to ask the hard questions and take it up to the man, what she actually does is present a set of standard, largely non-reactive questions which he answers in sound bites according to his platform. Nothing new is revealed, no pressure is brought to bear, and yet she proclaims it a victory, even though she is forced to add an op ed piece to reinforce the win. More of this approach, showing that just maybe the kids aren’t up the spotless standard they think they are – that just maybe someone else also knows what they’re doing — might’ve helped to humanise them to the point of being sympathetic heroes.

    It’s easy to appreciate their youthful cynicism: America’s news services, particularly of the broadcast variety, are by and large woeful, little more than a dull amalgam of reality television and opinionated commentary slavishly devoted to domestic introspection. And in fairness, Australia is following a similar route, blurring the line between entertainment and information, reportage and commentary, in electronic, print and online media.

    All of which isn’t to say that the characterisation isn’t good or even realistic: the Morgans are of an age and possess a background that make their self-absorption perfectly understandable, and it is certainly a fair call to tell a story through the eyes of obnoxious characters (in fact, I’m sure the very character traits that I found off-putting will probably endear the Morgans to other readers). I just wish that such a beautifully drawn and considered post-zombie apocalypse world could have been explored through the experiences of more likable characters.