Hello all.

For those who have read my blogs, books, or more rarely, seen a play that I have written, will know that absurdity, madness and exaggeration cling to my missives like a suspect body odour.   In these times when the creative monster hibernates, I am able to look backwards and forwards and digest this rather peculiar world that I’ve stumbled into. For that is just it, up until Spud I always felt that everything achieved was a consequence of my direct input over which I was (mostly) in control. Post Spud, I have entered a world that seemingly happens to me. It’s thrilling, but I can’t help the feeling that it all appears a little charmed and out of control. One moment I’m caught up in the throes of writing and creating, and then I’m touring the country with much fanfare, like some sort of Prodigal son on yet another lap of victory. The third phase is the most difficult – the silence and banality of filling each day without waking up and jumping on the rollercoaster. One would think that regular living would be the easiest phase to adapt to, but to be honest it seems like a great pause before the next storm. The last time I was able to wake up and not have to write or promote my books was almost two years ago, and yet I have learned from that experience that despite my agonising and minor emotional torment, this period of downtime is as important as any other part of the writing cycle.

The title for the third Spud book derived from the first two lines of the chorus in Tom Petty’s song Learning to Fly.
“I’m learning to fly,
But I ain’t got wings...”
Strange that the following two lines should speak to me right now:
“Coming down
Is the hardest thing...”
Touche Petty!

But before I lapse too far into indulgence, let me say that I have been thinking greatly about what will follow the final Spud book. And whilst I’ve learned never to say never; it would take a prolonged period of creative or financial bankruptcy to force me back into the world of schoolboys after Spud 4.  The “undiscovered country” is a tantalizing thought, along with the creation of a new set of characters which leaves me slightly tremulous with anticipation. But that’s all for the future and in the lap of the Gods. Right now I’ve got to figure out what to have for lunch and whether it might rain this afternoon or not. Since i don’t have an umbrella this may factor into whether I take a walk to fetch the evening paper or not... Let’s face it, it’s a risk... Okay I’ve decided, I’m staying in with Stephen Fry’s priceless journey through America and a pot of steaming tea for company.

I’m also on a quest to track down the funniest novels of all time. I am aware that humour is subjective and that some people think haemorrhoids hilarious, but if anybody would like to add to my reading list I would be most thrilled. After copious research and mass trawling through websites i have purchased the following...

Right ho, Jeeves .   PG Wodehouse
Lucky Jim.      Kingsley Amis
A Confederacy of Dunces.   John Kennedy Toole
Three Men in a Boat.   Jerome K Jerome
Adolf Hitler, M y part in his downfall.  Spike Milligan
Wilt.Tom Sharpe

Others that I would consider for the mantle of the funniest novel ever would be Catch 22 (Heller), The World According to Garp (Irving) and Still Life with Woodpecker (Robbins).

THE END OF THE LINE

 

Greetings all. At last i have returned to Wombat's flat after finally slaying the beast that was the Learning to Fly book tour. It's been two months of adrenaline, joy and exhaustion, but how marvellous to have met so many people who have been moved in some way by my books. As i've said before, writing is a lonely business, not just because it is a a solitary pursuit, but rather because you never experience a reaction to any particular line that you have written. In two months i have spoken to so many people, heard their stories and discovered what makes them snigger and guffaw.  It was the connection and closure to the writing process that i needed, and i have more than had my fill. There were some days when i grew tired of my own voice and deeply  regretted the moment when the name Spud first floated into my brain. But most of the time I felt loved and celebrated. So thank you all. Without you, there would be no me.

 

For those of you who now own a signed copy of Spud, Learning to Fly, i have bleak news. I may have signed as many as 12 000 books in the past 60 days so the chances are that having an unsigned copy is infinitely more rare and valuable. Sorry about that. Also my signature has evolved from a trail of spider excrement, to a rather camp and dramatic swirling affair. The camp version is not accepted by my bank who clearly prefer the spiderpoo version. Therefore, one could conclude, that my signature isn't even real and could be illegal. Makes one wonder if the arthritic hand and strained neck was really worth it in the end...

 

So what now? In truth i haven't a clue. There is no chance of  beginning the final book before next year, as i need a serious break from all things Spudly and like the man himself, I find myself in a desperately fragile state of mind. Certainly i will keep an eye on Spud the movie, but as the project advances so my influence decreases. I really back the team at Roguestar Films and it's time to let the real professionals do their work and realise their vision. I'm not even sure where i might end up living in the foreseeable future as my current abode has become a place of work for me, and right now drifting around seems far more palatable than living the quiet life here in Durbs.

 

Speaking of Durbanites, tomorrow is the last day for applications to audition for Spud the movie, so if you're hellbent on fame and stardom then proceed directly to spudthemovie.com. For those of you in the other centres, auditions are coming your way, so get to it immediately! I wish you all the luck and remember that there is nothing but pride to lose.

 

Bye for now, and once in a while remember to release your inner idiot.

 

John

     

FRANKENSTEIN'S BACK!

 

Man those luscious days in Cambodia and Thailand feel like some time ago now. In fact even the Cape Town Book Fair has receded

into the throbbing haze of talks, interviews and book signings. But let me resume from the very beginning and stagger forward in an orderly fashion.

 

THE LAUNCH (JOZI PART 1)

 

Armed with a decent suntan, three signing pens, and a bubbly SE Asian inspired mojo, I set off for Johannesburg unsure of what to expect.

Sure I knew there was some anticipation about the new book, and yes I was warned that the launch may be a sizeable affair,

but nobody gave me the category 12 hurricane warning! My first interview was meant to be a fifteen minute spot on the Rude Awakening on 94.7. It turned into a two and a half hour radio jamboree with Jozi's craziest people. In fact I think Vern wouldn't be out of place reading the weather. Anyway after our looney diatribe and being bogwashed by Whack-head Simpson I returned to my hotel in a twitchy mood and set about preparing my speeches for the launch and pacing around the hotel room in a nervous fashion. The weather was bitterly cold - even more so when you've just been through an 8 month summer and forgot to pack your jersey. Expecting the worst, I stepped out onto the Melrose Arch Piazza at 18:35 and my jaw fell open as I saw the queue which began at the signing table and stretched down the road and around the block. According to my publishers (who know these sorts of things) there were over 2000 freezing people waiting for me. Four hours later I was still signing away and grinning like an ape at the unfolding mass of humanity before me. What a night! What a feeling! So thank you to those who braved the cold and waited in line - your love and excitement was shattering. It's official JOZI ROCKS!!!

 

CAPE TOWN BOOKFAIR

 

After 5 days in freezing Jozi I flew South to beautiful Cape Town with British author Adele Parks. We didn't stop talking (although she spoke far more than me) from the moment we were picked up from the hotel until we had been deposited in our hotel at the Cape Town convention centre. We covered all areas of life from the publishing industry in Serbia to the sex of Ricky Gervais's cat. Marvellous stuff.

So everybody asks me how the book fair was this year and unfortunately I don't have a clue. At my first signing the queue double backed on itself like a deadly snake with each fan armed with a sack full of Spuds. I did two signings a day and every single one was identical and just as crazy as the last. My third and final signing pen ran out on the second day and that was followed by several more. At least the flamboyance of my signature has greatly increased and for the first time I have been complimented on my scrawl. This was partly counteracted by the lady who informed me that I held my pen like a deformed baboon, which was a setback as far as signing confidence goes. It began to dawn on me that Spud is the Frankenstein monster let loose on the country and eventually the brute will destroy me too. I decided I couldn't carry on and ran away. Unfortunately 4 Penguins jumped out of a nearby car with Madagascan registration plates and wrestled me back to my signing desk where a queue of hundreds waited patiently for their Frankensteins to be scribbled on.

 

Anyway I signed them all - in fact you couldn't stop me.

 

CAPE TOWN CONT...

 

After the book fair I was wheeled into a van and driven around the mountain to a new hotel - this time in stunning Claremont. My publishers took pity on my withered right hand and sent me off for the first ever right arm massage which was like heaven. Unfortunately I had nothing else to complain about after that so I immediately perked up and whistled annoyingly in the corridors at all times. Perhaps it was the mountain, or the fine wine, or perhaps it was just the more relaxed schedule but the final 5 days in Cape Town were sheer bliss, apart from being scolded by the hotel manager after he caught me talking to a giant tortoise in the hotel garden. That aside, we had a great launch at EB Constantia and Spud Film producer Ross Garland joined me on stage for a Q&A at the quaint Kalk Bay Bookshop. It was great to share the load and Garland seemed to mightily enjoy himself, so much so that he began signing my books for a number of confused folks who appeared to think he was the author.

 

On Sunday I flew back to Jozi from where I now write this. So stay tuned because next week I'll be telling you about some behind the scenes shenanigans of week 3 of my book tour. This will include my controversial appearance on the set of 7de Laan this morning and my return to Durban for another set of launches next week. Perhaps I'll call the final Spud, "The Death of Frankenstein!" Still I'm gonna miss him when he's gone, although I'll never forget the queues of people who have spent hours waiting for my signature. Surely this is proof that the world has gone mad!

 

Chat soon

Johnny         

 

29th April
42 Days to Launch


So here I sit in a tiny Internet cafe in Siem Riep, Cambodia. Outside thunderous rain thrashes down onto the humble little streets from ominously blackened thunderclouds. It's been over a month since we heard another South African voice - how quickly you become accustomed to a new existence. In Cambodia ones identity as a western traveller or "barang" is fixed, stymied by history, language and a pale skin. Nobody here has heard of South Africa - they call us Aussies or Americans which is equally galling.

It didn't take as long as expected to throw off the shackles of Spud Learning to Fly. Once my brain computed that the book was written and there was nothing left to be done, it has set my imagination free and other stories have drifted into my consciousness. More attractively, one or two possibilities that harness something other than the South African condition and all that involves. At present they are mere sketches that need layering, oh and a plot, but perhaps they are the first clues to where I shall move beyond the final Spud book.

Returning to Spud - Learning to Fly, I remain hugely excited about this third instalment of the Spud series. When I reflect on a year's work and all the associated planning, agonising and hysteria, I immediately return to the choices I made along the way. After all, that is what writing really is - a vast array of choices neither right or wrong, but crucially important to the rhythm of the story. In many cases these choices were taken for me by the characters themselves, I was merely creating words to fit their instinctive thoughts and actions.  On other occasions the deliberate hand of the writer steered them away from the familiar and habitual towards shaky ground. Perhaps these moments will become the most interesting? Another subtle difference between this book and Spud, and The Madness Continues... is that I have written Learning to Fly in a classic 5 act Shakespearean structure  - with distinctive crests and troughs leading towards multiple climaxes in Act 5.  Spud 1 itself was greatly lacking in structure, which perhaps was part of its charm, although the large emotional wind up at the end was more akin to a Greek tragedy than a young schoolboy's diaries. I guess you can say that I am continuously experimenting with the medium, like an ancient explorer, wandering through lost ruins, lifting stones, and carefully piecing a puzzle together.

As far as movie news is concerned, I am pleased to announce that momentum is on our side and a number of crucial building blocks have been set in place. The producer has gagged me with regard to letting out any important details, although I can report that Spud the movie will be made in the not too distant future. For those convinced that this could be their gateway to stardom, I beg your patience, and remind you that as soon as auditions are announced you shall read it here.

In the meantime I'll keep you posted on my travel blog.

You be safe and happy.
John

 

FRIDAY 27th MARCH 2009
 
75 days until launch of Spud Learning to Fly!
 
Greetings and Salutations
 
It gives me enormous pleasure and considerable relief to announce that Spud Learning to Fly is now complete. Tomorrow morning, serious looking men in a bright yellow van will arrive and take my final manuscript away to the Penguin colony, where it will be turned into a book with a life of its own. Having finished my 14 month hermitic odyssey an hour ago, I am somewhat at a loss for words, with a myriad of thoughts and emotions swirling around my fuzzy head. I have become far too close to this new baby to speak objectively, from this point on it is what it is.
 
On Monday Jules and I leave for Cambodia, via Malaysia for two months of wandering with nothing but a return ticket and a backpack. I will be writing regular blogs to document my journey, my sometimes bizarre thoughts and encounters, and count down to the big day when Learning to Fly takes off.
 
I leave you now with the thought of the wonder of flight in all its forms.
 
Chat soon
J

SUNDAY 1st March 2009

In Spud, the character of The Guv inscribes a book of poetry, which he presents to Spud Milton on his 14th birthday. It reads, “Here’s to all the beginnings, and the possibilities they bring.”

Spud - Learning to Fly’s beginning was August 2007. In a few short years I had written two books, performed hundreds of Mamba shows and lived the life of a celebrated nomad. Running on red bulls and adrenaline, and mostly overawed by the sudden turn in my fortunes, my new roller coaster life took on a life of its own, and I merely chased its wake. The Madness Continues (and continues…) book tour was gruelling and I realised that I had reached an end of sorts. Call it the end of the beginning. I needed a break, a break from the daily buzz, a break from Spud, and mostly a break from myself. I decided to disappear, and so I did. For five months I didn’t mention the “S” word, avoided all contact with the world, and relished my ordinariness. It was a beginning of sorts.