Recent Book Results

Lately, I've just been blown away by the massive developments in my first book, Winchester: Saviour.

It all started last week, when I made the decision to put the first half of it up for free for 5 days on Amazon Kindle. When I first looked at the stats the first day into the promo, I was ecstatic to see 4 people had downloaded it. Then day two the number was 57, then 69, then 84!
 Around about then, it dawned on this small-brained nutter that the report I was looking at was only for Amazon.com, as in the US, Australia and other countries without their own site. So I scrolled the drop menu and found that 20 people from Germany, same from the UK and even one person from Canada had also downloaded the free Part 1 ebook.

When it was finally over, on my 31st Birthday five days later, a huge 199 people had grabbed a copy of my book from all over the world! I couldn't contain my happiness. And from that 199, I hope that at least the majority like it and take a moment to place a review on Amazon, and Goodreads if signed up. Every little bit helps.

Then, only days after that exciting week, I happened to do a websearch for Winchester: Saviour, just to keep abreast of any happenings out there in the big wide inter-world, and what do I find? Ticking the "Expanded Distribution" box on my paperback publication set up with CreateSpace has paid off big time. Winchester: Saviour, in soft cover/paperback, is officially available in just about every single online book retailer known to man, word wide.

You can actually log on to your favourite book e-store from wherever you are on this planet and purchase a copy of my first published book to hold in your very own hands.

Please allow me to pause a moment and slap myself to make sure I'm not dreaming! And look, honestly, while I may never sell a single copy from any of these stores (though it would be great if I did!) just the fact that my writing has gone from an aging file on my computer, surviving with me through car crashes, relocations, job upheavals and family alterations for sixteen years, to being a published, 5 star rated (on Smashwords, by Cecil. Check it out.) paperback novel is just so, so amazing. In fact, despite being a writer, I find it difficult to really put words to the feeling.

Perhaps there's only one thing to say. Thank you. For the support, encouragement, faith in me... and Cecil, for your review, mate. Thanks a lot for that, whoever you may be.

Till next time,
-Damien.

Sample of my new mystery novel, Essence Of Betrayal

Prior to the anticipated release of my new mystery novel this year (no true; it is anticipated by at least four people that I know of!), I'm releasing this final version sample to give you a taste.

If reading here hurts your eyes, the sample is also available in PDF, thanks to Google Drive, which you can view in your browser completely free and without logging in.

 
Go to the PDF here (Opens in another window/tab)

Feel free to read and leave comments. In fact, I welcome your thoughts, so either scroll to the bottom and leave a message, or email me via the contact form to the right. Look forward to hearing from you.
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The Essence of Betrayal

by Damien L. Malcolm

Two Chapter Sample

Cover Image - Essence of Betrayal - Damien L. Malcolm 2014

One

Thursday May 16, 01:31

A distant sound blared repeatedly from somewhere, bringing my mind almost to full awareness. On my way out of the dream I realised it was a phone ringing. It jolted me awake, and one eye pried open to stare at the glowing red numbers floating above the bedside table in the dark.

One thirty? Who the frig could that be?

I rolled out of bed and stumbled over to the desk. Despite my trusty oil heater ticking away in the corner, the phone was incredibly cold in my hand.

"Hello?"

"Oh thank God. Jack, I'm so sorry, but I need you. Can you come over?" She's worked up, crying and all. I thought I recognised her deep but feminine voice though.

"Rachel?" Rachel Gardener was a customer I'd had for a couple of years, under both the handyman business, and my second, secret business as a private investigator. She could seem a little unbalanced at times-apparently suffered from a mild anxiety disorder-but most of the time she was easy enough for a fella to get along with. Plus we had a fair history, both personally and professionally.

"Yes, it's me. Please Jack, I need help."

"Ok, ok. Are you safe?"

"Yes. I just need you here. I've got something to tell you."

"Righto. Just give me a few minutes. I'll get something on and head over."

I hung up the phone and shuffled into the bathroom. I've always slept in the nude, and I'm a hairy bugger, so the cold had all my body hairs standing on end. I looked like a furry echidna in the mirror when I flicked the light on.

Draughty damn house.

I put on the work shirt and trousers that were lying on the floor, next to the shower. I'd worn them the day before, but they didn't stink, and right now there wasn't enough reason or inclination to find anything else.

The pants were black; the shirt tradie's fluorescent yellow, however there shouldn't be anything at Rachel's that required night camouflage. Then again, on second thoughts who knew what the heck I was heading into. Perhaps being so obvious was not a good idea.

She had sounded pretty worked-up over the phone. How was I to know she didn't have some crazy-man with a knife to her throat, or something? I'd been a P.I. for long enough to know that things weren't always as they seemed. And panicked ladies calling in the middle of the night was enough to make anyone nervous.

Putting yesterday's black work-jacket on over the top, just in case, I glanced at the mirror again. I looked like someone just dragged from a grave. Silver-streaked, dark-brown hair all over the place, hadn't shaved for almost twenty-four hours and my light-blue eyes looked glassy and tired.

Grey lines, shadowed cheeks. At that point it was clear that while I may have felt twenty-five at times, tonight I looked old enough to make my real age of forty-three seem young. A voice told me I should tidy myself, but I changed my mind. Stuff it; she wanted me out of bed at this time of night, she could take me as I was.

Five minutes later I was firing up the falcon and pulling out of the garage. I thought it was a better choice than the work ute; quieter, and more private with the tinted windows all round and matte black panels. At night, it was almost invisible. Plus it had all my P.I. gear in the boot, again just in case.

The moon was full, with no clouds. Loved those nights. You could almost drive without headlights... which by that stage I had done a few times in the past. It was a good eight or so minutes back to town from my place, country roads all the way. When I turned into Rachel's drive, first thing I noticed was a missing car.

Her hubby's 4WD wasn't there, which I had kind of pre-guessed with her ringing in the middle of the night and all, but it still had me wondering. The wind was blowing a freezing gale when I trudged across the frost-bitten grass to the door. I could hear her dogs, a four-foot rottweiler and a mangy little string-haired chihuahua, barking their respective heads off from round back.

She answered the door on the second knock, and shuffled me inside like the road was littered with paparazzi. Rachel's dazzling green eyes flared nervously against the mass of curly red hair flowing across her shoulders. Panic, fear and something I couldn't put my finger on.

She was wearing a kind of nightie thing, with a real silky thin fabric that flowed ever so nicely over her short, slender body, and an open dressing gown cast over her shoulders. At first I thought she was mad wearing such a thing on this sort of night, minus-three degree winds and all.

Her nipples certainly agreed with me.

However, when she closed the door behind us I realised the temperature of the room was hovering somewhere between the centre of burning coal and the surface of the sun. So in essence, she could have gone naked with an ice-pack across her shoulders and been quite alright.

She led me down the hall, passing the archway to the kitchen where the kettle was already whistling, and I turned to see two mugs sitting on the bench with tags hanging out. Obviously we were in for the long haul.

This'd better be good, I thought warily.

"Tea?" She asked in a croaky voice as she left me in the dining room and breezed back into her tiny kitchen.

Did I have a choice? "Yeah sure," I replied aloud.

There was a distinct air of tension in the house, like someone had died or something. It made me uneasy. I looked around while I waited for her to come back. From where I sat at the end of her oval table, I could see out into the lounge and halfway up the hall to the bedrooms.

She'd changed things around since I'd last been there. Some sort of African cross New Guinean theme with red droopy things everywhere, beads from the doorways, and waist-high brown-timbered statues of black fellas with big penises. Bit odd.

Looked like a lot of money had recently gone into decorating the place. Interesting, considering she hadn't worked since marrying. Thought it kind of funny too how, while it was her and her bloke living there-and mostly his money, it seemed-the decor was all her. Not even a big screen to watch the footy on.

A couple of minutes later she came in and placed the two tea mugs on the table along with a plate of choc-chips and some sort of cake-slice thing. Her normally attractive face was ragged and drawn, bringing out every one of her thirty-six years, with black streaks running down her cheeks where the hours of tears had liquefied her mascara. Her red hair was now strung up in a haphazard ponytail.

"What is this all about, Rach?" I queried as she took her seat across from me.

I took a couple of bikkies straight up. It had been a while since dinner and I always got the nibbles around 2am. If I wasn't snoring at the time, that is.

"It's Jonathan I... I think something’s going on." She left a long pause, seemingly straining to put her problem into words.

Jonathan Gardener was her husband, obviously missing along with his 4WD. Big bloke, about six-two and half that wide; hair everywhere but on his head. He ran the main mechanic workshop in town, the one on Railway St. I'd spoken to him a few times over my years in town, but since they'd married the year previous, he had become kind of cagey around me; not sure of my intentions or history with his missus, I guess.

"Something like what, Rachel? Would you just let it out already? I gotta get some sleep before starting on Harrison's deck tomorrow..." I glanced at my watch as if I didn't already know how bloody late it was. "I mean, later on today."

"I know. I'm sorry, Jack. I'm just so scared I don't know what to do."

"Whaddya mean? Has Jonathan done something to you?"

"No, not to me. But I think he may have done something... to someone..." She let that hang just long enough to have my mind reeling at a thousand faces a minute. "You know that girl that's been missing since last weekend?"

"Yeah. Blake's got me asking around on my travels; see if anybody saw anything the afternoon she went missing. Why? You don't think Jonathan has anything to do with that, do you?"

Obviously my last question was a little too direct for her. She immediately shattered into a sobbing wreck. I'd seen this all before, couple of years ago on the first and only night we had slept together. Only this time there was no possibility it would end the same way. It took her a while to calm back down.

"I don't know... I..."

My masculinity panged for a sec, and all I wanted to do was go and wrap my arms round her and say it was all ok; protect her. But that had been what got me in trouble last time, so I held back. Eventually she pulled herself back together and wiped herself on a tissue she had pulled from her dressing gown pocket.

"He's been at that Holden tech thing in Brisbane for the last two nights." She stood up and walked back out into the kitchen, still talking as she moved. "I was sick and tired of tripping over his crap every time I had to go in the shed to get the dog food, so I thought while he's away I'd just do a bit of tidying."

"Shite, love. You never tidy a man's shed."

The joke was terrible, I know, but it was late, the tea was too weak and I needed something to break the tense fogginess in my own head, more than anything else. Besides, she didn't take any notice of what I'd said.

"I was shuffling some tools onto the back shelves," she continued, "when I accidentally pushed a box off the top. And it had this in it."

I looked up from my fourth biscuit and took a good look at what she was holding. It was a footy jersey from the local club; red with blue and white horizontal bands. She flipped it round so I could see the name stencilled across the back.

Becker. As in Allison Becker, the girl who had gone missing. It looked clean, with no blood, but it still took me a long while to swallow the choc-chip caught in my throat.

Two

I looked her straight in the face.

"Well, to make you feel better, I'd say that it doesn't mean much. But hell Rach, I'd be lying. How the frig did that end up in your shed?"

"I don't know." Rachel sat back down with a flop, tossing the jersey on the table. Only one word crossed my mind as I watched the thing hit the timber.

Evidence.

"Why haven't you gone to the cops?" I asked firmly, hardly giving a crap whether she broke down again or not. "That's some serious evidence, Rachel. If they know you've got that and didn't go to them straight away, you could come down as an accomplice when the crap hits the fan."

"I... I didn't want to start something I wasn't sure of."

"Have you talked to Jonathan?"

"No, I haven't called Jonathan. I only found it this afternoon, and I've been stewing on it all night. I haven't slept, or even eaten. It took me an hour just to pull together the courage to call you. I was afraid that the police would swoop straight in and arrest me or him, or something. And I knew you'd know what to do."

It was childish and probably mean, but the way she said that gave me a mental image of her huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth saying "Jumper, scary. Jumper, bad," for the last eight hours. In my defence, that is often the way crazy people are on TV. But I knew she had a clinical illness of the mind... I really had no excuse.

Lucky I never smiled, or told her what I was thinking.

By then though, my frustration had kicked in. "Bloody hell, Rachel. That's one heck of a place to put me in."

Now I did admit that at that point I had raised my voice just a little, and the agitation that I was feeling from being dragged into such a predicament that late at night could have pushed a slight accusing tone into my voice. But I was in no way prepared for the reaction it caused.

"You?" she exploded, springing to her feet and driving herself across the table at me. She was screaming like a banshee. "What about the place I'm in, you selfish mongrel? I've just found something that could very well make my husband a fucking murderer, and all you can do is sit there and worry about you and your pretty little world! At least you can go home and sleep it off, go on tomorrow like nothing's bloody happened. I gotta sit here and wait till the man I thought I knew and loved waltzes in that door and says 'hi honey', like he hasn't just killed some hapless teenage bitch!"

Right about now, I wasn't really knowing what to think. I didn't know whether to put on a calm voice and bring down the heat, speed dial the cops or hit the freak with my pocket taser.

I'm sitting there in the middle of the night with a piss-weak cup of tea in one hand and half a chewed bikkie in the other, with a suddenly psycho woman screaming obscenities and thrusting her evil bloody eyes at me, with a fire burning in them that looked set to cream me.

I mean she had gone from a sad, pathetic, blubbering mess to full-on crazy-town in two seconds flat. I was suddenly aware that I was sweating like a duck underwater too, but I'm thinking that was the result of the furnace burning at the far side of the lounge-room, not my sudden fear and shock.

I guess my surprise showed, because in a quick moment, Rachel calmed it right off. Her face morphed back into a human's and she re-took her seat. A second later when she spoke, her voice had returned to its normal placid tones.

"I'm sorry, Jack. I'm just real stressed, hey. All of this has freaked me out. My meds don't seem to be taking the edge off any more. I'm real sorry. Jonathan has been working such long days lately that I've hardly seen him for weeks. Then this... I'm just..." And again with the tears.

I was still completely lost for words. Stressed, yeah fair enough. But heck, I'd known Rachel a good few years by that stage; seen a few meltdowns and slight tantrums. But I'd never seen her like this. This wasn't stress—it was a chemical imbalance. She had mentioned her medication too, which was unusual for her to do, and it made me a little concerned. I just sat there and watched her cry for a minute, trying to figure all this crap out.

So her hubby had, supposedly, a missing girl's sports jersey in a box at the back of his shed. Funnily enough, the very same jersey that she had been wearing the day she disappeared. It was a massive circumstantial coincidence, that was undeniable.

But did it really prove anything? Yeah, sorta. How the hell else would he have got a hold of that piece of clothing if not by pulling it off the dead girl’s body? But was she even dead? Did he simply pick it up off the side of a road?

In the last couple of days, the cops had done some major searching of the whole town using canine detection crews, bush land and all, and turned up nothing. Not a single trace of her. Though they hadn't said anything to the family yet, as far as their investigations were concerned the trail was already cold.

From witness reports that Senior Sergeant Walter Blake had showed me, it seems that Miss Becker had left the under-seventeens footy training at Patterson Oval on Saturday May 11th. She always walked home after training. Apparently she liked to cool down from the session, and her home was only eighteen hundred metres or so from the field.

Heck, if her parents had been looking out the eastern window at the time she disappeared, they'd have probably seen her go, or the car that took her at least. But they didn't, till about a half hour after the time she'd normally walk in the door, and of course by then she was long gone. Not long after that, they called the cops.

All the girls from the team, as well as their fifty-year-old grey-haired coach, had said that they saw her walking down the road that afternoon. Some even said they waved from their SUVs when their parents drove past. But despite so many eyes on her at random intervals, somewhere between 4:48pm and 5:15pm, she had simply vanished, and not one person saw anything suspicious.

It was certainly a mystery, one that that small town police force was hard-pressed to deal with. I think that's why Blake had ended up pulling me in. gotten to know each other a few years back, not long after I rocked into town. He was one of only five people in the whole district who knew about my new secret night job, and he sometimes used my unique position, personal access and past military training to his advantage.

We'd collaborate on jobs, with him feeding me a bit of intel in order to help get more information from possible suspects or witnesses. I loved the arrangement, and despite making no money out of most of the bones he threw me, it usually worked out even with all the free ID histories, rego reports and background checks I was able to get out of the force.

Not that we told anybody about that bit.

I was brought out of my reverie when suddenly Rachel was standing over me with my almost-empty cup in her hand.

"So what are we going to do, Jack?"

"We? Sorry, love, but there's not a whole lot I can do to help, besides put in a good word for you with the sarge. But you are going to take that jersey down the cop shop first thing in the morning and tell them exactly how you found it."

"But they'll just want to arrest Jonathan." She was a lot calmer than before, but I could clearly see a spark of unbridled panic in her eyes again. She was making me bloody nervous.

"Not necessarily. Most likely they'll just have him in for questioning when he gets back into town. Find out what he knows as to her whereabouts. The missing girl case is technically still not a homicide just yet. But they’ll ask you some questions too, where you just need to lay out the truth, and they'll most likely want to come and search the premises for anything else."

She plonked herself back into her seat. "Oh no..." The crying was about to start again. I looked at my watch. 2:30 really was my limit; I had to get out of there.

"Look, Rach, sorry to be harsh, but tears aren't helping you here. You've got to just stay together, think rationally and don't go jumping to any conclusions."

She was nodding, soaking up some more saline with that sodden tissue of hers.

"Just to be safe, I wouldn't be calling Jonathan just now, either. He may be perfectly innocent, but it'd be best if the cops talk to him first, ok? And it might be a good idea, after you drop the jersey down the shop, to just go stay somewhere else for a couple of days. You know, till the cops have talked to Jonathan. Is your mother still in that two bedroom place up by Harry's Hill?"

"Yep. And Jonathan's only been there twice. He's never been able to remember where she lives."

"That's good. Best if you do that, I think. Just for a few days, maybe a week."

I started to stand up, making it clear it was time for me to go home. She copied, and began hesitantly leading me to the door. I had the distinct impression that she was about to beg me to stay on the couch or something.

I could understand her trepidation; fears her husband might come home early or something. Either way, it would not have been a good idea. Plus I really just could not stand her presence right then. Something about her was giving me the creeps.

She just went to open her mouth when I cut her off.

"You should be ok tonight, Rachel. Take half a sleeping pill and make sure you get a good bit of shut eye. In the morning, take that bloody jersey into the cops."

I was at the door now, just bracing myself to pass between the enveloping heat and the icy cold. I was really wishing I'd brought my darn snow jacket.

"Good night, Rachel. Let me know how you go tomorrow, ok?"

"Ok, Jack. And thank you so much. I didn't know who else to call. It means so much that you believe me."

Shit the air outside was cold. My toes almost curled up inside my boots when that door opened. "Righto. Hear from you later."

She stayed standing in the doorway while I walked down the drive to where I'd parked the falcon. A key turn later, I was getting blasted by warm air in my little comfort booth.

I really felt at home in that car. I'd spent so many hours whiling away inside it, into the darkest parts of many a night, that I was about as settled in that seat as I had ever been anywhere else.

I looked up from the glowing lights of the dash as I put it in reverse, and noticed that Rachel was still watching me from the front porch. Ordinarily, such a thing wouldn't bother me, but for some reason I got a sudden chill down my spine.

Quickly I backed the car out onto the dark road, put it in drive and pumped the accelerator. Vivid flashbacks hit me of her face when she'd lost it in that dining room. I just had to get the hell out of there.

It wasn't till I was turning onto my road that I started to come down off my nerves. It was then that it came to me how strange her last words had been.

"It means so much that you believe me," she had said. It played over and over again in my head as I headed home, tossing up dust on the gravel roads.

"Believe me."

What an odd thing to say. It had never even occurred to me that she may have been lying. But considering that odd remark, was it possible that she had something to hide?

Already things weren't adding up. And damn it, now I wasn't going to get any sleep at all.

<<<***>>> I hope you enjoyed this sample. The full book is available worldwide as <<<***>>> 

 ebooks, Kindle and paperback.

How A Talent Grows

Just had to share with you the major revelation I've had over the last few days, and in no way do I wish to make it sound like I'm full of myself, because I'm not. It's purely an observation.

In a nutshell, I really seem to be becoming a good writer.

It sort of started improving when I began going back through and editing "Saviour" long before publication. I had already read it through three or four times, especially when starting work on Book 3 around 2007. (hereafter for ease of writing this post,  I'll refer to the pending book 3 by an abbreviation of it's working title of "The Creature Within": TCW.) But following some major life changes early in the 2000's, including a near-fatal car accident, job upheavals and night-shift, marriage and on-coming children, I hadn't actually written as such for almost five years leading up to it. However when I started going over "Saviour" line by line a year or so ago, I suddenly became aware of having a tight, detailed writers eye. I could see which sentences were good, which were not so good. I started adding entire sections and sentences to it, and removing or re-arranging others. And the sections I added were better than the sections already in place. Eventually it sort of seamed together and became the book it is now, (probably still not finished to an independent critic's eye!).

And then of course as mentioned, in 2007 I started on TCW, and found that the ideas flowed out near complete, straight from brain to hand to screen, with little to no post-editing required. It was a bit of a shock at first, but then I just put it down to life experience and the exciting storyline I had concocted. TCW is almost finished now, but I placed it on the back-burner while I concentrate on Book 2, "Convolutions". "Convolutions" was a storyline I had the idea for around twelve years ago, but I could just never get it off the ground, hence the premature investment in TCW. There weren't enough facets or angles to work with and I just could not seem to cohere the patches I had. I think I had about three hundred words on it, then simply gave up.

That was my eighteen/nineteen year old writing self.

And nowadays? Well, after publishing "Saviour" on a whim, prayer and a moments notice, it occurred to this clever duck that one could not publish Book 1 followed a few months later by Book 3, with no Book 2 to fill the gap. I may only be a writer, but I can count! And don't worry, I checked; there was no way I could effectively wiggle TCW to become Book 2. I just hadn't set it up that way. So, with a couple of new ideas floating around in the cloud, and my original idea to play with, I sat down and started writing. Now, only five months later, I have a mammoth 44, 403 words as of tonight, and that's from a bloke running a full-time business and a 4-kid family who only writes for two-three hours before bed! Not bad, I reckon. And I've so far got a smashing story to boot. Terrorist cells and religious extremists, new aliens, high paced ground ops, starship dog-fights and some heavy-handed lady-authority from Franklin's wife, who joins the universe officially for the first time. If I can pull together enough to keep it running for the next 40,000, it's going to be a cracker!

So, a person really can just improve in a talent without necessarily putting in massive amounts of time or practice, even with a five year gap between stints. I guess that is the difference between a talent and a skill. A skill is something you need to learn, focus on and practice in order to get it perfected, whereas a talent is something you're born with, that naturally grows with age and experience, becoming evermore honed simply by enjoying and sharing it. You build your skills, while you grow your talents.

So, the moral? Find your talent, whatever it may be, and allow it it to grow. Who knows? Someday you may turn out to be a singing handyman-business running author with four kids and a happening dream, just like me! Heck, that could very well be that elusive "meaning of life."

Best of luck and thanks for reading,
Till next time,
-Damien.

My First-Book Rearrangements

Well, I made a pretty major decision today regarding my first ebook. Major for me, anyway. I combined parts 1 & 2 into a single book. For most it will mean nothing, though others may be a little interested. Well you must be, as you are on the third line and still reading!

When I first published it, I think I must have been a little impatient. I wanted to break into a flooded market which I thought would be aided a bit by throwing in a smaller, cheaper book first, then expanding on a possible fan base over time. I also had read in a couple of places that with this whole ebook craze, people were after shorter style books; 40 to 50 thousand words. My original manuscript being a whole 79,000 odd sounded somewhat epic (I know; I chuckled at that too.) when compared to that. So I found a spot in the middle somewhere that left it on a cliff-hanger and chopped the book in two.

Sounded like a good idea at the time, but as the year went on, I have found the take up of Part 1 as pretty good, while Part 2 was somewhat flailing. Perhaps people simply haven't caught up on it yet, still happily reading Part 1 with the view of grabbing Part 2 in a few weeks or months when they need. Or perhaps people don't really realise that the two parts were effectively the same book, just split, hence thinking that it ended too abruptly and they were jolted out of buy the next instalment. Not to mention that I personally have found it bloody confusing swapping between a 2 part ebook and a 1 part hardcopy. Plus many people, I guess, would not like the idea of going back and forth to re-purchase the different parts. You buy a book, you buy the whole darn thing, right? I get it now. Either way, I made the call that it was a bad idea, and went about rectifying it.

Wasn't a big deal to do really, which makes me only love this digital self-publishing dizzo even better. Simply changed the name, cover photo and uploaded the new full file. I had to unpublish the old Part 2, which means that while I can still access it, it will vanish from ebook stores soon, with that section now fully absorbed into the full Winchester: Saviour ebook (available now at Smashwords.com - shameless plug there!). I hope it hasn't inconvenienced too many people, but really in the long run I feel it has made for a better book. Especially since I published the paperback (available at Amazon.com - Another one! Stay low; they're coming thick and fast.) I think it just makes it less confusing having only one title, exchanged between formats, rather than the mish mash of parts that and books this that I had going before.

And in the end, one has learned a valuable lesson: Impatience leads to crap. Feel free to quote that in your social circles!

Till next time,
-Damien.

Why Are People So Angry?

I guess the title says it all. I am honestly curious as to why in this world the average human being is so frequently upset, angry, stressed and hateful, especially toward each other.

The other day I heard about a new mowing business in town. Apparently the men that operate it are using stand-over tactics, moderate stalking and intimidation to try and edge the other similar businesses out of town. It terrifies me that there are people around in a small country town like this that feel domination is the only way to conduct business. Especially when up till now, we mowing blokes/handymen pretty much all knew each other, respected the other's operation and often would pass new customers between each other if the other was too busy. Now I learn that there is some nutter out there basically looking to trample that eco-system, the way humans throughout history have trampled eco-system after eco-system.. I find it really disappointing. And utterly sad to look at our race through that lense.

And of course, this is only a tiny sample of the negativity out there. What about road rage, wild out of control parties, beating up police, children and little old ladies? Or gangs of young kids wandering the streets at night? What is wrong with this world? You would think that the years of endless war that the generations prior to mine have seen would have gone someway to shaping a solid awareness of life and other people. Simple respect for your fellow man would be nice.

I suppose all we can do is try our best to live our own life following the path that we feel is the correct one, doing our best to reduce our footprint (carbon or otherwise) and our negative impacts on those around us. And erect a shield around ourselves and our families to try and deflect a little of the hatred. Try to at least try to be one with the universe, instead of constantly going against the flow and butting heads at every turn.

Till next time,
-Damien.

The Fluoride Debate

This is a copy of a letter I sent to my local Council a couple of weeks back, requesting that fluoride be removed from the local water supply. Have a read, then let me know how you feel about Fluoride.

G'day,

I'm writing to relay my concerns regarding the Council's collective stand of water fluoridation.

I read in the papers that many of you are basically sitting on the fence, undecided on the matter, due to people's neglect of contacting you on the matter. Well, this is my bit.

Now I'm not going to rant on how Sodium Fluorosilicate (Na2SiF6) and Sodium Fluoride (NaF) are both an S6 rated toxin on the SUSMP, poisonous to humans by inhalation, ingestion or skin contact, because I doubt that any of you are really ignorant to this fact. Nor am I going to rattle about whistling dixie over cancer studies, crack-pot theories and claims of other countries pulling fluoride from their water all around the world due to results from longitudinal toxicological studies. The response to these sorts of arguments from most pro-fluoride people is that only a small amount it used and no "solid" proof has been uncovered to find that it causes harm. That is a fair argument, except when you compare this to blatant logic, do a little research and find that this particular S6 rating in the SUSMP include such toxins as Dicamba (Bindi & Clover Killer), Ethylene Glycol (Engine Coolant/Anti-Freeze), various derivatives of Cyanide, Chloroform, Diazinon, Ammonia, Phosphoric Acid, Sulphuric Acid, Arsenic, 2-Butoxy-2'-Thiocyano-Diethyl Ether, Cadmium, Methanol, Nicotine, Warfarin, Ether, Formaldehyde, Hydrochloric Acid, Lead Compounds, and Malathion (Insecticide). And this is just a sample of the chemicals that I have heard of before. Would you opt to have any of these poisons in our water? Even a little bit? I wouldn't think so. And there are plenty of studies to show that the human body can be effected by the tiniest amounts of contaminant.

No, the point I would really like to make is the fact that this stuff is placed in our water without our permission. Mass delivered, one-size-fits-all medication that I don't need or want to be exposed to. Why do I not have a choice here? Are any of you a Doctor? Dentist? Pharmacist? What about the council employee that checks the dosing system? Does he/she possess pharmaceutical qualifications? No? Then why on Earth are you or any of your employees prescribing medication to me or my family? Because some "experts" said it is "safe" and the State Government told you to that's why. I'm sorry, but if that's your only stand point then I have to disagree vehemently. Are there any statistics to confirm that the percentage of people with bad teeth is so high that it warrants mass-medication?

But, hey, I'm a reasonable bloke. I get the logic of it all. Put the good stuff in so everyone benefits, right? However now that I think about it, I reckon while we're medicating the population, why just stop at fluoride? I'd like to list some other substances I feel should be in our water in order to have a healthy community.

• 58% of Australians are deficient in Vitamin D; let's put it in the water.
• Or what about Iodine? We are ranked in the top 50 countries deficient in Iodine, so put it in the water.
• People don't eat enough oranges these days; put Vitamin C in the water.
• Vegetables grown in Australian soil are proven to be low in vitamins and minerals, so put in some Manganese, Zinc, Vitamin E, Potassium, Vitamin A, a pinch of Elemental Copper and some Phosphorus.
  
• In the 2011 Census, it was found that there are 99.4 males to every 100 Queensland females. Females are almost uniformly deficient in Calcium, Iron, Magnesium, Folate and most Vitamin Bs; let's put those in the water.
• Then, there's Olive Leaf Extract, well known as a great tonic for colds and general body immunity; in the water!
• Apple cider vinegar; I was only just hearing on the radio the other day that it is good for just about anything, even dandruff. Put it in!
• Ginger; good for circulation. Put it in.
  
• Ginko Biloba; good for the brain. In it goes.
  
• Omega 3 Fish Oil; good for the heart. Just a drop or two.
  
• Milk Thistle; good for the liver. Need some of that.
  
• Hell, just put a thousand Panadol in the doser every day and we'll never have headaches again!!!!!!!!

I think you get my point. Please, do your jobs and listen to the community that elected you to your position.
--

Thanks,

 Damien L. Malcolm

My Youtube Gratitude

This goes out to all my wonderful and supportive fans. You're all great, and the reason I keep writing.

Till next time
-Damien.