Cirrus@Austlit

'Fandomonium is where the passion and pandemonium of fandom collide. Across 55 short works of realism, fantasy, speculative fiction, crime, horror, satire, memoir and poetry, this eclectic collection explores what it means to idolise people and ideologies, and to be fans of our own selves. From streamers to sorceresses, from the fervent to the dangerously fixated, these tales explore the extraordinary connections forged through belief and obsession. Sometimes hilarious, sometimes heart-wrenching, and always surprising, Fandomonium has a story for every fan, follower and fanatic.'

Source: Publisher's blurb.

'It begins with us is a revolution of the heart. This bold collection of 35 works by emerging Australian writers tells stories of what it means to be human amid times of great transformation - within dystopian worlds that mirror our own, imagined lands of the fantastic, or across the spaces of our opinions and desires, each story explores what it takes to be the catalyst for positive change. Sometimes exhilarating, sometimes thought-provoking and always rebellious, It begins with us underscores how every revolution must arise within the self.'

Source: Publisher's blurb.

'The picture book is a complex narrative form which makes use of not only literary devices but also visual devices, taking into account the content of the illustrations themselves as well as the way design principles lever and help deliver meaning for the reader. The story a picture book tells – as a form which goes beyond the script – is thereby dependent on more than one mode of discourse. For the writer – authoring what is essentially half the story at most – the nature of the form creates challenges which are unique to picture book authorship. I aim to contribute to the existing critical thinking on the picture book by: mapping the context of scholarly and practice-based discussion; outlining foundational concepts regarding the counterpointing use of visual and verbal modes; and introducing the use of anticipation, direction and accommodation as essential strategies which the picture book author must negotiate. I demonstrate these practices in relation to how other picture book authors have articulated their processes, as well as using my own experience as the author of One Photo (Watkins, Ross, and Liz Anelli. 2016. One Photo. Melbourne: Penguin Random House) as a case study.'  (Publication abstract)

'This provocation raises questions about the future of grief through digital vestiges that offer the animated presence of the biologically dead in the lives of the bereaved. The vast amount of digital data produced and shared with others accumulating on social media, on phones and computers, creates a substantial archive in which the dead continue to be and also not be with the living. The digital data that is left behind after biological death provides new ways in which to create replicas– holograms of the deceased as well as voice bots in which the bereaved might speak to those they miss and hear their voice answering back to questions much like Apple’s Siri. Bereavement is about living with ghosts (often about discovering that the dead ghost our own bodies) and the digital has ushered in new forms of ghostliness in which we find ways of staying connected to the loved and missed. Digital remains of the dead, while often lively with algorithms generating messages from accounts of the deceased, also, arguably, expose the corporeal, emotional and cognitive difference and limit between a living biological human presence and a digital human presence. The latter can never truly substitute for the former. This provocation suggests that holograms and voice bots can be just as much tools for grieving and acknowledging loss, as they might be tools in the service of denying death and prolonging grief.'  (Publication abstract)

'It is always interesting to look at the cPanel stats provided by our excellent webhost, Netregistry. They show, for example, that ten years ago, in October 2008, TEXT had 2397 unique visitors who accessed on average 3.2 pages (i.e. 3 articles) in the month.' (Introduction)

'Adrian Pomeroy teaches English at a boys’ school ‘full of bullshit artists in blazers’. When he finds himself at the centre of an allegation that might end his career, his life starts to unravel in spectacular fashion. With a police investigation underway, Adrian turns to his detective brother for help, but Noel is battling crippling demons of his own.

'As the repercussions of this one accusation lead to the implosion of Adrian’s family, he can no longer ignore the secrets buried in his past. The Apology is an explosive and shocking portrait of the lies we tell ourselves and each other in order to survive.'

Source: Publisher's blurb.

'‘What kind of writer are you?’ So the question is asked of Alan Wake, best-selling novelist embedded in his own horror story in Remedy Entertainment’s Alan Wake (2010), and subsequent novelisation by Rick Burroughs (2010). What kind of writer you are is a question which has long vexed not only genre fiction authors, but also those writers whose work feeds on/back into established narrative worlds. Game novelisation, the ‘reverse’ adaptation of videogames into novels, has attracted almost no academic enquiry to-date, and is much maligned by critics. Yet game novelisation is a writing and publishing practice on the increase, and when considered in overlap with the voluminous quantities of game fan fiction published online, transformative narrative practice is a phenomenon which begs greater attention within creative writing. While there is much work to be done on game novelisation and game fan fiction in terms of its place, reception and impact within gamer and publishing landscapes, from a creative writing viewpoint there is value to be gained in teasing out aspects of writing that are unique to these practices, and to consider how immersion in narrative world building is altered by the player cum reader cum writer. Using Alan Wake as one example, this article presents selected contextual discussion before performing a reflection on my own experience of narrative world building as player, reader and writer.' (Publication abstract)

'We have entered the age of gaming and gamification, and creative writing – as both a cultural practice and a discipline of study – is being drawn into this phase of digital culture. Despite the bookish backlash noted by Adam Hammond in Literature in the digital age (2016), major publishers have begun to experiment with interactive digital narratives. Penguin’s We tell stories (2008) was a first attempt by a major publisher to future-proof its business through a merging of gaming principles and creative writing – an attempt more recently repeated by Hachette’s New star soccer story ‘game book’ (2016). In ‘The shifting author-reader dynamic’, R. Lyle Skains diagnoses such experiments in relation to the consumer reality: ‘The next generation of readers is currently in their teens, spending far more attention, time, and money on digital platforms such as gaming and internet interactions than they do in any other entertainment genre’ (2010: 96). However, while literature is being challenged to adapt in a digital age increasingly dominated by gamers, the traffic is not just one-way. Games are also changing in response to literary or artistic imperatives, as writers are conscripted into development teams in an increasingly competitive games industry, and as scholars focus their attention on games as artefacts of cultural interest. While some early game scholars aggressively opposed the ludic culture of gaming to the readerly culture of literature, and while the agency of players (as opposed to the assumed passivity of readers) often continues to be lauded as the distinguishing virtue of games, hard-and-fast distinctions are being eroded. Astrid Ensslin, for example, while remaining appropriately sensitive to medium specificities, has posited the emergence of the hybrid form of the ‘literary game’ (2014), exemplified by such work as Tale of Tale’s The Path (2009).'  (Introduction)

From Ross Watkins, the illustrator of The Boy Who Grew Into a Tree, and Liz Anelli, comes this moving picture book about family, the failings of memory and the strength of love. Told in stunning prose, with poignant artwork, this book is a celebration of what we hold dearest.

Research contribution :

'Bodies in Boxes plaits fictional, critical and autobiographical discourses in a fictocritical search of the process involved in writing ‘Coronial Inquest’ (Meniscus 2013). The work accounts for the fictional texts researched in the creation of the short story and enmeshes this research with a third person narrative exploration of the writer’s intentions, apprehensions and other (tangential) embedded narratives. Cannibalising my own work, Bodies in Boxes enacts an ‘encounter between the writer’s emergent, embodied subjectivity and what is written about’ (Gibbs 2005).'