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Every Writer has a Voice

14 February 2017 by villia Leave a Comment

I was at work last night when a colleague asked if I already had the paperback of the new novel. It won’t come out for another two weeks, but I have my first print run. She took it, and after complimenting the cover design and format of the book, opened it on a random page and started reading.

‘This is so you,’ she said and laughed. And I was reminded of something I read a long time ago. All the books that have to be written already exist. All the stories in the world have already been told. But they have never been told with your words, your voice. Nobody has taken a situation and dissected it the way you would.

Blood and Rain - paperback cover — Blood and Rain – paperback cover

And that is why we write. Because our unique vision will shine a different light on an old subject. We will open people’s eyes and show them ordinary things from a perspective that is new to them. We will make them think in a way they haven’t thought before. Stretch their minds, broaden their vision, their understanding of the world.

And so it is important that our voices get heard, our words get read. We may be little more than creatures made of organic matter, but our memories and understanding of the world around us make us into individuals. Our opinions and actions make us who we are.

Being an author and influencing the way people think and see the world is a privilege and we should treat it with respect. We must, at all times, treat our readers with respect and always try to show them the world in a new light.

My new novel, Blood and Rain, will be published on 3 March 2017. It can be preordered from major online vendors already.

A Year in the Life

12 September 2016 by villia Leave a Comment

It’s been a year since I completed the first draft. As of 12 September 2015, Blood and Rain existed. The novel was scheduled to be published in spring 2016, but things happened.

Blood and Rain - concept cover — Blood and Rain – concept cover

First, the website went down and my hosting company killed the backup. This is why links to old blog posts on my social media sites are broken. It took a few weeks to fight them, but I lost. My blog was gone. I made some effort to salvage the site, but it’s still in ruins. Never set up a site with FatCow. Never. Absolutely don’t.

Then Bowie died on the day my review copies were returned. He was my idol, someone I looked to for inspiration. I spent the next few weeks clearing out the attic, going through my Bowie collection and disappearing into a dark world that was mine and mine only. Except when I needed to work, do groceries and things. Creativity wasn’t there, my story seemed irrelevant.

Then I created a book of Bowie lyrics for a closed group on Facebook. I also wrote a novella based on his album, Diamond Dogs. Got half way through it. I need to finish that project as well. It was well on its way to become an interesting novella.

And I was busy working with the Pirate Party in Iceland in the weeks before the pre-elections. My work there is done. Elections are at the end of October and it looks like it may turn out extremely well for the party.

A year flies by in an instant. It is interesting though, that I finished the final draft of Blood and Rain two days ago. Pretty much a year after finishing the first draft.

And so here we are. Now it’s time for a cover design and finding the best way to publish the novel. I leave you with a cover idea I coughed up at the time.

It’s good to be back.

David Bowie’s 100 Favourite Books

21 January 2016 by villia Leave a Comment

As the fallout from Bowie’s death settles, we collect our thoughts and try to make sense of his life and legacy. As I mentioned in my previous post, I fell in love with him in my teens. He was larger than life and he sang about feelings of isolation and anxiety. Something I was only too familiar with after the death of my father.

I believe what turned me onto him wasn’t just the music, the costumes and whatever doomsday thoughts he dabbled in. I have always been curious about life, the universe and everything. Bowie was extremely well read and seemed to share this curiosity. In fact, I think his curiosity far exceeded mine. His ability to express his findings in art certainly did. He opened up strange doors that would never close again. My life was richer because of him.

Having been a fan for more than 30 years, I know his music inside and out. All periods, also the incredible and overlooked 1990s. I could go upon a stage and give an unprepared lecture about his life and influences. I have all his records and a few books on him and his art. While the world scrambles to get to know him – Blackstar is no 1 in 69 countries and his album sales rose 5000% in the week after his passing – I can sit back and enjoy what I already am familiar with.

So how can I get to know him better without reading another biography? How can I get into his mind and tap into that universe of his? The answer is, get to know his influences. As mentioned above, Bowie was extremely well read. There are countless photos of him reading through the decades. He posted his top 100 books on his Facebook page in 2013. I have read a couple of them, but most are a mystery. Many I have never heard of.

So here is how I’ll commemorate David Bowie in the coming year and beyond. Read the books he loved. Let him continue to expand my mind and horizon. His music may just take on a whole new meaning.

Only question is, where to start?

David Bowie 1947-2016

11 January 2016 by villia Leave a Comment

I wasn’t going to write about this. I was going to lie down with headphones on like I did in my teens. The way I heard “Heroes” for the first time. Listen to the album he released last Friday. The album that was a part of his death. But I can’t. I can’t put it on. Not just yet.

It all seems so clear now. He looked old and frail in the videos to Blackstar and Lazarus. Unlike the videos he made three years ago. Subconsciously, I wondered how it could be. Consciously, I ignored it. Avoided the subject.

It’s a wonder, really. Even his death was art. He had been ill for a year and a half. He went into the studio, knowing what was to come. He created a masterpiece, a record that surpasses everything he’s done since the 1970s. Yes, it’s better than Scary Monsters. He released the album on his birthday, giving it no chance to be a “dead man – huge hit” thing. It was a regular release on Friday. A baffling album that so painfully, makes perfect sense now. Two days later, he goes. Last single he released was Lazarus. Look up here, I’m in heaven. I have scars that can’t be seen. What did we know?

David Bowie was in control. He even designed our experience of his death.

My first real encounter with David Bowie was in 1983. I’m a Let’s dance kid. I heard the singles on the radio because they were the biggest thing around. My uncle borrowed the album and the Best of Bowie (the original 1980 K-Tel release) as he was learning the guitar. I don’t know if he ever played them, but I was hooked. Played Let’s Dance until it was engraved in my being. Then the Best of… realised his earlier stuff was way more interesting. The rest is history. I was a fan for life.

Me finding Bowie coincided with the passing of my father. I have always believed that it had something to do with it. He filled the void. Became so much more than just a rock idol. I felt like I understood him. I was relieved when he released Tin Machine. I remember listening to it, thinking “yes, you did it”! I followed his experimentations throughout the 1990s. Saw him numerous times live in the 1996-2004 period. Every album reinforced his genius, or our connection. I recognised passages from my 2013 novel in one of the songs on his new album. Did he read it, or had he influenced me to such an extent that I was thinking and writing like him? It’s bollock, obviously. I don’t believe he never knew I existed, but we spoke the same language. We were on the same page. He was always a step ahead, but I felt like I caught up with his thinking. I always understood him, or so I thought.

But this isn’t about me. This is about a legend. The man who fell to earth and sprinkled us earthlings with stardust. He is gone now. He will never surprise me again with his wit and he will never infect me again with his sense of wonder for the world and the odd things in it. Except when I go through his awesome catalogue and rediscover the gems he left behind.

A legend is gone, but he will live forever.

Everything has changed.

Facebook’s Fear of Death?

31 October 2015 by villia Leave a Comment

Yesterday was the day I discovered Tsü. I’d heard of it, but as I have a mild phobia of signing up to every and any new social media fad, I never paid attention to it. A couple of Facebook friends were posting about this platform and it looked kind of interesting. But it was Facebook itself that sparked my real interest.

Facebook has decided to block all links to Tsü. This is two things. Censorship, and I hate censorship more than anything. And fear. If Facebook is afraid of Tsü, then it must be worth a look.

I signed up. Connected my youTube and Twitter accounts and tried to connect Facebook, but that didn’t go so well. Facebook won’t let anyone post a link to Tsü on their network and they won’t let anyone connect the profiles.

The fact that Tsü promises to be less intrusive is a great thing. They also say they’ll share 90% of the advertising revenue with content creators. That would be the users. Image the content you’ve created for Facebook in the 5-6 years you’ve been there. The photos, posts, links, clicks, likes. It’s enormous. Now, imagine they would share their profits with you, or a charity you choose?

A social network is nothing without users, so here’s hoping that Tsü manage to grow and that they stay true to their vision.

If you want to follow or befriend me on Tsü, go here: http://www.tsu.co/VilliAsgeirsson

Berlin – 25 Years of Freedom

9 November 2014 by villia Leave a Comment

Growing up in the shadow of the atomic bomb was an odd experience. I remember sitting in a sand box, playing with a plastic shovel. Possibly eating the black volcanic sand. Another kid said the Russians had more bombs than the Americans. That was scary, because the Russians were the enemy. He said they could wipe out a whole city with one bomb and they had thousands. I probably took a mouthful of sand at that moment. It was the first time I realised that life was dangerous and that the world could actually come to an end.

Later, in my teens, I would read the back of the phone books. They had instructions on what to do in the event of a nuclear attack. Paint the windows they said, then stay away from the windows, cover yourself. Afterwards, see if anyone needed help. They explained how to treat burn wounds and avoid radiation. I wondered if the best thing wouldn’t be to go outside and enjoy the fireworks. Better than survive and die of burns or radiation sickness.

I remember a story from the Cuban Missile Crisis. Someone apparently sat down on the sofa, TV turned on. Gun and a bottle of whisky. Prepared to drink the bottle in no time and use the gun if they announced that the bombs were on the way. Better be gone before the blast got you.

That was the paranoia. The fear. Thankfully, we have been spared this madness for 25 years now. When the Berlin Wall fell, the cold war fizzled out and we could become friends with the east. We could finally accept that Russians were people too. It has been a bumpy ride, ups and downs, crisis here and there, but the threat of nuclear war vanished shortly after 20.000 people crossed Bösebrücke, 25 years ago today.

But there are two things bothering me tonight, on this great anniversary. The first, and most obvious, is that we seem to be heading for another cold war. A pointless and unnecessary confrontation between east and west.

The other thing is that the wall probably wouldn’t have come down, had the east German politburo not made the mistake of telling people they were free to go west. People rose up after being told it was OK. The time had come, communism was crumbling, Poland was experiencing martial laws due to civil unrest, the borders between Hungary and Austria were already open, making the Berlin wall mostly obsolete, but people gathered and the border guards gave up on the day authorities said they could.

What if Günter Schabowski had not said the borders were open? How long would it have taken for the public to denounce their oppressors? How long would the GDR have survived?

The Berlin Wall fell, South-Africa denounced apartheid, but one major wall of shame remains. The one keeping Palestinians trapped. Will they ever be free?

And will we ever be free of the invisible walls we are trapped by? The fear of doing what we think is right? The fear of standing up to authorities that treat us like subjects in a George Orwell novel? Hopefully, some day, we will break down our own private walls of fear. Then the rest will follow.

Happy anniversary, Berlin! See you in three days.
(Photos in this post are taken from my film that will be shown at the Berlin interfilm festival next week)