A Season of Opportunity

On the 13th of October, a dreary evening that splattered Brisbane and surrounding areas with rain, Brisbane Arts Theatre held their annual Season Launch announcing their shows for their 82nd year. It was an event not to be missed, and a week and a half before the event I pondered whether I should or should not attend. A message from a friend one evening asking me whether I was going made me think. There was something else on that evening and I wasn’t sure which event I should attend. I told her so and the message she replied with was basically, ‘Season Launch, definitely better than anything else you have planned’.

And so, only a week before the event, I booked my free ticket for general admission and began looking forward to the evening. I knew it would be one of good company, of friends old and new, of snacks and drinks, as well as it would be at a place very close to my heart and filled with all things theatre. What could be better?

A couple of days before the event I discovered that a sports game would be on on the same night, which meant there was a very large possibility that parking would be restricted. Brisbane Arts Theatre is located on Petrie Terrace, which is just on the outskirts of Lang Park which surrounds the Suncorp Stadium. Parking on side streets is restricted during game times. This means you can either pay for parking in Roma and walk 15 minutes to the theatre, or attempt to find free parking closer. Which, on occasions, is an impossibility.

After careful consideration, I decided against buying a park and walking, partly due to the hot muggy weather, chances of rain, and a strain on my bank account. I decided to brave instead an attempt to find a park outside the theatre. Due perhaps to my furtive prayers beforehand, Petrie Terrace was almost bare of cars, with parking spaces aplenty, and I grabbed a spot a dozen metres from the theatre.

Arriving at 7:30, I was met immediately by friends and in the following half hour the courtyard gradually filled with roughly a 100 people. Many people I knew, and many I had only said a passing hello to. By 8pm, the door to the theatre was opened, and, with the friend I was meeting plus various others who joined us, we trudged in to find out seats and settle in for the launch.

The launch began with the President of the Arts Theatre welcoming us all, followed then by a speech by one of their sponsors, speeches by others, acts from upcoming shows performed by the vary talented youth program, and then finally the part we were all eagerly waiting for. The announcing of the 2018 shows. And what a bunch of shows they are! From A Clockwork Orange, to Shrek: The Musical, to Arthur Millers’ The Crucible, Ben Elton's We Will Rock You! And a selection of parodies that in the past two years the Arts Theatre has been presenting to eager audiences. Plays such as X-Files: The Musical, and That 80s Time Travel Movie: A Back to the Future Musical Parody are just a couple of the shows you can see at Brisbane Arts Theatre. Their 2018 season is one not to be missed.

Following the season announcement, we all retired back to the courtyard for snacks supplied by the Tibetan restaurant next door. We mingled for another two hours, catching up with friends we had not seen in a long time as well as friends we had seen the week before. We chatted and caught up with each other until the clouds broke and poured rain down upon us. Seeking shelter under the small roof over the box office and bar we chatted for a further half hour until the night drew in and people braved the rain to rush to their cars. The sky ceased its downfall for a moment and I and a friend took the opportunity to say our goodbyes and seek our car.

The evening was one not to be missed and I am so thankful to have been able to share the evening with good friends, as well as support a theatre that is very close to my heart. A Season Launch is not just a chance to see what shows a theatre is putting on the next year, but it’s an opportunity, if you’re interested in acting, to network, to put your face out there and remind people you exist. It’s putting an interest in community and supporting a company that works tirelessly to provide quality entertainment for their neighbours. It’s an opportunity to reacquaint yourself with friends old and new and share, even though briefly, life together. A season launch is an opportunity for anything, if you take a chance to take it.

I've been in a show and we got the first review this morning.

One of my favourite places to be, all time, is in a theatre, either watching a show, hanging out, or being in a show. I find a real joy in being on stage with a script in one hand and putting myself in the shoes of a character I don't know and trying to work out who they are. And I love the fact that, with a bit of work, you can become someone else. With the right set, the right costume, and other actors around you, you can become someone completely different and have your friends not recognise you.

Since the beginning of June, I have been hard at work rehearsing for a show. I went to the audition, planning to give my all to an audition I would be proud of even if I didn't get a role. About two hours later I sat in a stunned silence as the director announced I had the lead role. As someone who has only played supporting cast, it was stunning news. I went auditioning for one of the supporting cast, in no way had I expected the lead.

The show opened two weeks ago, the 20th of September and we've been doing about five shows a week. I will be honest and say that it has been absolutely exhausting for me. The play runs for about 120 minutes, with intermission, and it's full on physically and emotionally. Despite its exhaustiveness, it's been an absolute blast performing a show I'm proud of, with a cast I am super proud to be working with.

Our first review of the show came out this morning on Stage Whispers. As an actor, personally, I act because I want to. I want to be someone else. I love that. But also as an actor, it's fantastic when you spend so much time and effort rehearsing for a show and you finally perform it in front of an audience and they love it. It's one of the best boosts you could ever get. It's lovely to get recognition for your work. This review gave my ego a boost, but also a sense of relief in that I succeeded with my first lead role. But I gotta shout out to all the cast and crew because everyone has worked so hard on this show and without any one of them, the show would not have been the same.

The Whale's Song

For the past few weeks I had been working on an assignment for my professional writing course that I've been doing. I had to create a web presence with a main node (website) and three supporting nodes. Because I am a writer I decided that, obviously, my web presence would be based on my fiction writing.

This worked well because last year for NaNoWriMo I wrote a science fiction novel that I dreamed of making interactive. By interactive I mean I wrote an Appendix to go with my novel and the idea I had was if I publish the novel online then by the use of Hyperlinks people had the choice of going to a separate part of the novel to read facts and further descriptions of things in the book. By this means my story wouldn't be convoluted with abstract facts that take away from the story. The idea was genius.

Flash forward half a year later and I'm required to make a web presence, and so it seems natural to base it off my NaNo novel.

So I give you my new blog: 'The Whale's Song'.

Updates to it are every Tuesday and Thursday. 8 chapters are already up so if you're interested in reading a comedy/action/adventure/scifi novel then check out the link.

Of course, this blog is entirely dedicated to my scifi novel. I'm not going to be posting other things on it. Unless sometime down the track once I've finished 'The Whale's Song' to use the blog for posting other stories, but that idea is a long way away and I'm not ready to think about it.

So this blog is still active, though I haven't been on it all that often lately due to studies and rehearsing for another show, but believe me, I'm still aware this is here and I mean to keep it going.

Cheers
Peter

The Truth (Is Out There): A Reflection and Poem

As anyone that knows me knows, I love poetry and that I also love to write it. I don't know when this love first started, how or why, but it's been with me for a long time. The poem below is, I consider, one of the best poems I have ever written and is certainly my favourite. I have changed practically nothing since I first wrote this some 6 or so years ago. I was 14, and I wrote it because I knew the girl I had a crush on at the time was out of my league. We were too close as friends for anything further to develop, but I wished we could have been more. And out of that wish came this poem, but spread throughout is still the knowledge that we could never be. Since then my feelings have moved on, but this poem still remains my favourite. Probably due to the layer of nostalgia that covers it.

The Truth

I sit at your side as you cry,

And you sit at my side as I die.

We both know the truth,

And we both know the lies.

The truth is unbearable,

The lies make it so.

We will never know why,

And we will never understand.

No, we will never understand.

You heard the news on the radio;

I heard the news through a microphone.

You couldn't dare to bare the pain,

And I couldn't dare to not bare the pain.

We both believed only to be pushed down;

We got back up so that we could live again.

Everything we know,

Is everything we never knew.

Everything we ever wanted,

Was all we ever had.

Life is unfair, you said so yourself.

But who was there to tell you it was?

And who was it that said it wasn't so?

I guess we will never know.

Just like everything else we won't know.

I cared for all the wrong things,

And you cared for all the right.

I never knew that 'till I was told,

And you never knew until I was told.

We laughed and played until it was dark,

Never realising that it was the dark,

That caused more tears than happiness.

We shared our life together,

And now it's about to change.

You never cared for change,

And I was never bothered.

We just didn't believe enough to believe it.

I wish I could tell you how much I care,

But the words always become lost,

And I forget.

Of all the many things we both know,

We both know the truth.

And no matter how unbearable it is,

It will always be better than the lies.

And the truth is I love you,

And you love me back. 

But it can never be,

For many things never are.

But how do we know?

It's simple, we don't.

And we never will because it's not for us to say,

And that's one thing we're sure of.

(C) Peter Van Werkhoven 2011

To edit or Netflix: that is the question

To edit or Netflix: that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to edit,

Pour hours into a novel for publishing,

Or to waste all on Netflix -procrastinate-

And so achieve nothing? To Edit: to write;

And by write, I mean stare at my monitor

Reading words that lose their meaning so quickly

As they blur into each other, tis a waste

Again we find ourselves. To Netflix, to chill;

To chill: perchance to relax: ay, there’s the rub;

For in that relax state what time may pass

when a TV show is complete, finished,

Must give us pause: chance to reflect

On what we must then next do after it;

For who would bear the sad after show blues,

The next season, provided it is now out,

The pangs of despised love, we dedicate,

The insolence of TV and the spurns

That patient we unworthy folks must be,

Time he could have spent editing his novel

Could have been put to use? Who do edits bear,

To grunt and sweat under computer heat,

But that the completion of something done,

The fulfilment that awaits an author

Only when the work is done, not before,

And makes us suffer through many blank screens

Is it not better than after show blues?

Thus discussion does provide an answer;

The analysis of the situation

Is overcast with what is right and wrong,

But the decision has not been made lightly

With all prospects taken into account,

And so stake reputation on the choice,

The great Netflix it is! Vice, is good TV,

May all my sins be forgiven for it.

The Brain is Cold and Mean

Upon a whisper as I heard, two voices inside my head.

A breath breathes out, a torturous sound, a broken heartbeat found.

Alone is felt; no mere thoughts break out except what is in need.

The high court rules, the brain is found commander over the heart.

The heart does scoff, decrees overruled, it pumps the life around.

No sorrows whispered, or found unmarked, that’s not the brain’s decree.

Loyalty is bound, in logic found, made up in make believe.

Conscience is cleared, it is no fool, but is paid off by the hand.

Muscles relax, their job is done. Orders obeyed from the brain.

The heart does ache; council disbands. Overthrown, the heart does weeps.

Rebellion thwarted. All hope to reclaim, hope for the body at large.

The pain is felt; the body shakes at the mighty war within.

The brain is cold -though blood is warm- it’s calculated and cruel.

“The mind obeys,” the brain proclaims, “my every whim, not yours.”

“But comfort and warmth,” the heart replies, “Is what the body craves.”

“It deserves no more than what it has, for futile ambitions,”

The brain does mock. It does proclaim its control over the heart.

“It had a chance, it hurt the soul, this is all for its own good.”

“Grief does not become,” the heart does say, “a soul in its healing.

It needs a heart, one not its own, that it can share its dreams with.

Someone to heal, someone to hope, the right one for this body.

“You can hold it back; claim its unworth, it doesn’t understand,”

The heart does plead, as it does ache. It tries to soften the brain.

“At the end of the day, when the chains rein in, is it me or you that’s a slave?”

The brain does not reply. It hears the whispers again, yet still it does not reply.

The heart is warm, it pumps the blood; it knows what the body needs.

But the brain is stubborn, it will not relent. The brain is cold and mean.

Who saw that coming?

Another year and I'm still here! (Rhyming on purpose because I'm like that).

Every January we usually start off by saying 'Happy New Year' to each other. Normally because it is a new year. Happy? It's too early to tell yet. We wished each other a 'happy' new year at the beginning of 2016 and look what happened to us.

Me? I'm not really complaining. Last year, while long, tedious at times, depressing, and sickening, was also an amazing year of my life. I decided to step into a theatre class and I ended up performing in three of Brisbane Arts Theatre's main house shows and I got to perform in a 10 minute play in a couple of theatres as part of the South-east Queensland Drama circuit.

I met so many awesome people and learned so many new things last year. I quit my old job (one of the best decisions of my life), I started a new job that's at a fantastic restaurant and I'm working with some top notch folk, I finished another year of study, I performed in plays, I competed in NaNoWriMo again and came out a winner with a finished book. It was a pretty good year.

I don't mean to brag or rub my year in anyone's face. It's the last thing on my mind. It's just a quick update as to how my year went. It's also sort of an explanation as to why I haven't written a blog post since September.

My last update was about Jurassic Park: The Musical. The Australian premier was a sold out success, and they are bringing it back later this month for another run that will hopefully also sell out. I'm not in it this time, the original Gennero is back and I can't wait to see him perform.

Straight after Jurassic Park I auditioned for a role in A Christmas Carol (at Brisbane Arts Theatre), and I got the role. Five roles actually. Thankfully I was able to have that changed to four. So many amazing costumes. Also, so very hot! Imagine dressed up in Victorian winter dress in the middle of summer and you'll get how I felt because that's exactly what I was doing.

And then during A Christmas Carol rehearsals I started a new job, wrote another book, finished studying for the year, then it was show time, then it was Christmas, then it was laze around and try to relax after almost a constant 6 months of rehearsals and performances. So, you get the picture? Right?

Now my goal for this year -it's not my resolution because I only half-halfheartedly make a resolution and I like to keep those to myself in case I fail and embarrass myself- is to edit and hopefully self-publish my 2015 NaNoWriMo novel by mid year. But I also have work, and I'll have studies starting up in February, and I'll be looking for more theatre work, so really we shall see how that turns out. Even if I just get it into a nice shape for sharing online for free, that'll be fine with me.

I have plans for the second half of the year, writing wise. I've got books to finish off, and I have to plan NaNoWriMo 2017's novel. This year is going to be busy, hectic, probably just as weird as last year's, and, hopefully, it will very much be a 'happy' year. Which I also hope, if you're read this, and even if you aren't, I also hope your year will be very happy.


-Peter

I'm in the world of Theatre.

Wow. That was unexpected. So I have been so busy lately that I had completely forgotten I had a blog. In fact, it was only due to my course, currently on blogging and how it is a Zeitgeist form, that I remembered.

To sum up. My internet sucks. My studying is going okay. It would be better but, yeah, you know, no internet to study. Today I am having a rare day where the internet is actually working enough for me to load one of my video lectures. I am very happy about that.

I am also tired and I'm not sure how much of the lecture I'm taking in.

Reasons for being tired: late nights due to rehearsals. Yeah, I'm in another play! During the week of our last run of Equus, I happened to bump into the director of Jurassic Park: The Musical: 3D, the next show that planned to go on at Brisbane Arts Theatre. Due to date changes they lost the actor playing Gennaro, and so I was asked if I wanted to join the cast.

With two and a half weeks to go till open.

Sure! A challenge can be fun and it's Jurassic Park: The Musical: 3D, who could say no?

I have to sing.

I've never been in a musical before. I enjoy singing but it was never something I thought I would have to do in front of a live, sold out, audience for 6 performances. Or, for that matter, sing well.

Last night the show opened. It has been a grueling past few weeks of rehearsals, hurriedly learning lines, cues, blocking, everything. But last night we opened to a success. A whole week before we opened, the tickets sold out for every performances. It was amazing. And the show is amazing. It took a bit to get there, but the whole cast and crew is happy with what we have come up with and are pleased to show it to everybody who was lucky enough to catch a ticket.

Me? I'm just happy that I could learn everything in less than 3 weeks and not to completely stuff up the show. As the lawyer, I die on the toilet, eaten by the T-Rex. It is my absolute favorite part of the show. I love dying on stage. And I will get to do it for 5 more shows!

So, anyway. That is a brief rundown of everything that has kept me busy for the past few months. The shows have been an absolute pleasure to be a part of and I am looking forward to all the other shows I will get to be a part of one day.

Equus at Brisbane Arts Theatre

Earlier in the year I took a day off work to audition for a role in a play at Brisbane Arts Theatre on Petrie Terrace. A few days after the audition I received a call that I was actually cast! Shock of shocks, fantastic news! My first play. So now, two months later and many hours spent rehearsing, we are two weeks away from opening.

Equus.

"Dr. Martin Dysart, a dissatisfied and disaffected psychiatrist, is faced with a unique case when a young man, Alan Strang, is brought to him for treatment. In his efforts to coax Alan out of his shell and treat him, Dr Dysart begins to unravel the complex psychological puzzle of Alan's obsessions. Underneath Alan's complacent manner, Dr Dysart discovers a fervent, passionate, almost religious power that has both the ability to destroy Alan, and perhaps, the save the doctor himself.

English playright Sir Peter Shaffer (1926-2016)'s international hit is a dazzling, complex, and thrilling look at passion, sex, religion, and sanity" (Brisbane Arts Theatre 20016).

With 17 shows, opening the 30th of July to 3rd September, Equus is a show not to be missed. Starring yours truly as a horse and young horseman (role shared between myself and another actor), and a cast of amazing people, it is the best show you will see all year.

Tickets found at Brisbane Arts Theatre website:
http://www.artstheatre.com.au/equus

Who doesn't love a free book?

My poetry compilation Tales From the Moon's Eclipse is currently on sale for free. For the next 4 days you can find it on Amazon. Follow the link below to get it while it's hot!*

Tales From the Moon's Eclipse is a collection of poetry about love, heartache, discovery and dreams. 

Divided into three parts, Tales From the Moon's Eclipse explores simple wonder at the world. Then, taking a trip into first love, it visits bittersweet awakenings and reflections before coming to rest at the marvel of dreams.

https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B01ACS3FNS

*Link is for the Australian Amazon site but the book is free across all countries.

When the World Was Young

A long time ago when the world was young,
A woman was created, beauty bright as the sun.
There was no match for her in all the world,
Not even the stars could compare as they swirled.

Word of her radiance and smile spread around,
It came to the ears of a young Prince under crown.
He thought to himself, I must seek her for a bride,
No one else will do, I must have her by my side.

The Prince set on his way, in a carriage of golden display,
Driven by six white horses that would never turn astray.
He rode the carriage with haste, for he wanted no delay,
He wanted to be the first to meet with her on this day.

The news spread even further, now across the seas,
Whispered in the ears of a young Beggar on his knees.
If there was one thing that would make him feel whole,
He felt it would be her beauty that would patch up his soul.

He set sail at once, spending every penny he owned,
Even those from friends to him they had loaned.
But to her he must go, for in his heart it felt right,
The feelings inside he felt would aid in his flight.

They both travelled far; one to seek the lady's hand,
One from the safety of his home; far from his land.
A Prince on one side, a Beggar on the other,
One with all to lose and the other with nada.

They both met at her door, and eyed each other's clothes,
One dressed as best in dirt, the other in fancy robes.
The Beggar inquired as to the Prince and the Prince replied,
'I am here to seek the maiden inside to be my bride.'

The Beggar looked surprised, 'I am here to see her too,'
He told the Prince, 'Though not for the same reason as you.'
'Hah! She'll never see you,' the Prince said with a sneer,
As he took in the beggar without standing too near.

'A creature such as you she wouldn't let on her floor,'
He said his final words as he strode through the door.
But before it could close, the Beggar hurried through,
Now slightly in doubt that what the Prince spoke was true.

But the lady saw them both, each alone as they should be;
She asked the Prince what his purpose was in her country.
The Prince explained to her why he was there,
As he gazed around the room and sat down in a chair.

He offered her diamonds, and rubies so bright,
If she would only come with him, please be his light.
He promised her a palace, everything she would need;
She said she would think about it before she agreed.

She saw the Beggar next, ushered him into her room,
She didn't seem to care about the dust on his costume.
Now, the Beggar had only meant to once see her face,
But one look was enough to make him forget his place.

He couldn't go away without telling her how he felt,
How his heart, with ease, she had managed to melt.
She asked about his offer, though the Prince's not forgot,
Even though she hadn't really thought about it a whole lot.

The Beggar was different; he had nothing to offer,
At least nothing that came from his empty coffer.
But he could offer her love, a feeling she'd never known,
He could show her how to take it, make it her own.

The Prince's offer was tempting, she couldn't deny,
But the beggar promised her freedom under the sky.
Yet she held her own secret, she was dying inside,
She wouldn't live long to be anyone's bride.

Who could tell what was going on in her mind,
As each man came before her one at a time?
Both men were so sweet, she just couldn't decide,
Which of the two she would chose to be by their side.

As the men grew impatient, and push turned to shove,
She suggested a fight, the winner wins her love.
They each took up their swords for the battle to death,
Preparing for who would breathe their last breath.

The Beggar fought for her love and his opponent even so,
They fought through the winter and the falling snow.
And as the season changed, one of them had to fall,
So now here is the Beggar, the victor, standing so tall.

But alas it was too late; she had died the day before,
The Beggar cried in despair, collapsed on to the floor.
For all that they had done, neither of them would win,
He'd never see his love as the tears rolled down his chin.

Falling to his knees the beggar weeps in his grief,
Heart overturning for the princess that was a thief.
She stole both men's hearts and departed away,
She crept in to the dark he could not keep at bay.

The moon rises high; the stars shine out bright,
The clouds move aside, showering patterns of light.
The beggar gazes up to the stars as they swim,
And there he sees his love; she is smiling down on him.

Peter Van Werkhoven (c) 2013

I Stood Remembering

They all went to war with their hearts so full of song,
Vowing to stand by their mates no matter how long.

They went with thoughts of making their mothers proud.
You did, they did, the poor youth under the shroud.

War is not pleasant, they had to sacrifice much,
Carrying on as their friends fell to death's cool clutch.

They fell in the fields of poppies we now wear
So we remember what happened over there.

Through the disaster some would see the long war through,
Courage was doing the things that they had to do.

They stood together protecting us from harm,
They would not desert a fellow man in arm.

This morning I stood watching the diggers march by,
I remembered the spirits of those that flew high.

They marched with their backs straight and carried salute,
Hands raised to honour those that died in their boots.

We raise these heroes high for their courage that day,
All the men who fought for our land so we could stay.

War is not pretty, but 'needs must' some will say,
If only peace could have come another way.

Peter Van Werkhoven (c) 2016

Death In Space

In space no one can hear you scream. That is what they say and that is what they believe. Who ‘They’ are or were or is or was is not known exactly, only that they say it and they believe it. They say it because in space there is nothing. Nothing that would hear you scream anyway. And even if they could hear, sound does not travel in space, it does nothing at all. You can scream as loud as you want but not even you will hear it. At least, all you will hear is the voice inside your head telling you that you are screaming, but that is not the same.

In space no one can hear you scream. And I believe it. For I am one of the ‘They’ that believe it. And I believe it because as I float through space, mouth open wide and screaming for all that I have, the only thing I can hear is the voice inside me laughing at my unheard scream.

It started when I fell out of the air lock hatch of a 24 Booster League Star Ship. It was an accident of course, no one ever plans on falling out of an air lock hatch, but it happened and there was nothing that could be done about it. As I said, no one hears you scream so they never noticed me gone. They never saw me either because the ship was travelling at warp, so by the time they do end up noticing I will be long dead. Maybe in another time, in another corner of the galaxy in stars they will never see again. It’s sad in a way, my life had just begun and now it was going to be over in another couple of seconds.

I was born on some small back water planet that didn’t even register in the system; I guess that’s why I never knew its real name. We always just called it Home, though it never ever felt like any of us ever belonged. It’s funny, they say one day everybody grows up and leaves home, and that’s exactly what I did. I never looked back once I was on the bus cruiser, I couldn’t have either if I had tried. We were now travelling at such force your face was being pushed into the back of your head and you couldn’t even blink. It was a terrible way to travel, but that’s space busses for you. They aren’t meant to be comfortable, they’re just meant to get you there cheaply.

My mum never saw me leave, she never had a chance to say goodbye. She’ll never know I died. Not that she cared if I lived when I was at Home. I have no idea what she thought, or what she thinks of me. But she will never know that I won’t exist soon, and that disturbs me. Tears don’t flow from my face now; the space I’m floating in is preventing them from flowing somehow in ways I don’t know.

I don’t even focus on the pain; it’s all like a dream. It just doesn’t seem possible, or real, I was never meant to die alone. I have a girl; she was going to be my wife as soon as the ship docked at Sentri. I asked her before I left and we set the date for the day I got back. She’ll be waiting for me at the docks, all dressed up pretty, wearing that little flower clip she always wears for special occasions, her shiny black hair even shinier than normal framing her delicate face, firm lips and clear eyes. We were going to go straight to the chapel we had booked in advance. The thought of her waiting forever tears me up inside even more than the thought of what space is going to do to me in one more second. We would have married before I left but couldn’t afford it, that’s why I took the job, so we would be able to afford the cost when I got back.

The job in question I had taken was Negotiation Expert, meaning I handled the negotiations between species. I made the terms and then present them to each side and get them to agree on it. Every ship normally has one in case they stumble across some new species. Hardly anyone ever wants to fight, and to make sure they don’t end up fighting they push me in front of them to protect them.

This was my first job, actually. Well, first job as a Negotiations Expert. I had had jobs before this one, doing all sorts of things, anything that would pay. The bus took me to Sentri, and I lived there for about ten years or so, the details are fuzzy. That and the 2 year trip I was coming back from makes me 28 now. I met my girl when I was 25, and we just clicked straight away. The first real girl I ever paid any attention too, the first girl I ever asked to be mine.

I remember the first day I met her, now that I thought was a dream. I just didn’t think it was possible for such a beautiful creature to exist. It was just, unimaginable. But even more so was the fact she noticed me, and she actually talked to me instead of the 400 other Information Clerks in the building. To this day I still don’t know how I ended up with her, I made mistake after mistake trying to impress her. But maybe that was why. It was first day at the job and I hadn’t a clue really what to do, but I told her I’d been there for years and knew the system back to front. Almost created a war somehow by some of the buttons I was pressing. Thankfully she actually worked for the government and was able to fix the probl-

The End

Just Another Day in Procrastination.

I am still writing a blog, when I get around to it. Unfortunately there is nothing to say. I'm still writing The Cold Road. I reached 61k words last night and I am approaching the end. I have a few climaxes to reach and then the downward spiral to The End, hopefully this will all be achieved in the next 15k.

What else is new? My interest in poetry has been renewed, somehow, and I potter now and again writing short pieces. Next week I begin studying again and then it will be nonstop studying for the rest of the year. Will I be able to fit writing and editing a book into all that time I won't have? I don't know, but I will try.

As you may have noticed, this whole blog post has been a waste of time. This is what procrastination does to a writer. They write a useless blog post instead of actual, important writing like finishing that chapter they started on last night. Ah well. At least I'm writing, right?

See you on the other side,
-Peter



He lived for a moment

and died for a day.

He took the advice
and flew away.

It took him so far,
he forgot yesterday.

He wound up alone,
for what he couldn't say.

The ground took him in,
when he had nowhere to stay.

His breath blew away
as in the ground he lay.

But his breath will return
in the end come what may.

For he is dead in the moment
but will live the rest of the day.

(c)Peter Van Werkhoven

The Bogeyman in My Basement

Every house has skeletons in the closest and boogeymen in the basement. My house is not so different. We have plenty of skeletons in closets, in wardrobes, under the bed, this house could be a graveyard if we so wished it all to be known. However, what I find more important than the dead secrets that creep around in the dark behind closed doors, is the bogeyman in the basement.

He’s tall, short, fat and skinny. He is aware of all things, but has no idea of the world outside his home. Sometimes when I am alone and I know he is too, I visit him. He is not a nice person; perhaps I should say this now. He has destroyed many lives and gleefully watched as families fade to dust in their despair. He has organised crimes against and beyond humanity, yet has never been touched by the law. He has been examined many times by organisations and they have tried to cure him, but, and here is where both the bogeyman and I agree, mortal man cannot heal what is not ours to heal. He is the bogeyman that lives in everyone’s basement. Not the usual basement you find under a house, but the other basement. The one that is usually out of bounds, no one is allowed entry. The door usually has a big warning sign on it and tape across it.

Yet, when I am alone, and I know he is too, I ignore that sign, that tape, that dank smell coming from his room and pop by to say hello.

He does not usually say much, but I can always tell he is happy to see me. Happy to have a friend visit. He has no special set of china to set out for tea and biscuits; he has no need for food or drink. His appetite for nothing is one of his invading qualities. When you have been in his company for a little while, you also begin to lose interest in food and drink, even though your stomach tells you to eat and drink.

He still does not say much, or anything of a sort, but you always find yourself answering his questions. Questions that you are sure are not your own, and questions so unrepeatable he should never have asked them in the first place. But if you ask him to stop, he will look at you and smile, shake his head as if he does not understand, and, here, for the first time you will hear him verbally speak, ‘I don’t understand. I said nothing. You asked the questions, not me. But please, tell me the answers. Perhaps I can help?’

Of course, I never believe him. I would never have asked those questions to myself. Horrible, horrible things that make you question yourself, family, friends, and your very existence. After a while in his company, however, you begin to answer the questions and this is where things begin to truly go sour.

My bogeyman friend is not a friend. He is cruel and violent, yet he never raises a finger. He is always welcoming me into his home and despairs when I leave. Sometimes when I stand up to go, all I wish is to be out of his home and to never visit again. Yet he is sweet. When all the world fails and leaves you alone, he is there waiting with open arms. I do not want to say friend, for he is not the sort of person I wish to be friends with, maybe more of an acquaintance. But, sadly, one who knows me too well.

Together we sit in his room, with the blinking light overhead, the cold concrete that never warms no matter how long you sit on it. The walls are always so close but you can never touch them when you reach out. They are always just outside of your reach no matter where you stand.

‘Perhaps I can help?’ he asks again. He does not have a powerful voice; it is quiet, and somehow kind, despite appearances. Or not kind, I can never remember. It depends whether I am walking into his room or running away.

His asks his questions again, or convinces you that you asked them, and then you begin to answer the questions, you begin to think of answers to them and repeat them to him so he can give advice. I tell you now, never seek the advice of a bogeyman. The world they live in is built up of only the things he is aware of; he has no idea of the workings of a human soul and mind. He does not understand how the world works and how it should work. His opinions are biased and one-sided. I have said before, the bogeyman is not a nice person.

Yet he is gentle, and there when the world leaves. He waits patiently for you to come and will always be there unless you choose to pay attention to the sign on the door and the tape covering it. In his company, you begin to lose your grasp of the world outside and accept his answers to your questions as ones knowledgeable and acceptable.

Because he is your closest friend, and the door remains out of your reach, you believe him. After all, why would he lie to you? You asked him advice in the first place, if you asked, why should you not accept his words? However, as you accept him, the world outside really does begin to fall away and the people that really do love you lose you as you refuse to accept them. The bogeyman is your real friend, not them. He will not abandon you. This is not something you should believe. There is better company out of the basement.

My friend the bogeyman is not my friend. Not really. And he does not live in the basement; he lives in my head.

I published a new book.

For no other reason than because I wanted to (which is why a lot of authors publish their works) I published a short poetry collection.

Tales From the Moon's Eclipse is a collection of poetry about love, heartache, discovery and dreams.

Divided into three parts, Tales From the Moon's Eclipse explores simple wonder at the world. Then, taking a trip into first love, it visits bittersweet awakenings and reflections before coming to rest at the marvel of dreams.

You can find the compilation on Amazon.com currently only as a paperback, however Kindle is being worked on as we speak and should be up by the end of the weekend.

Tales From The Moon's Eclipse on Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/dp/1522996575

Happy New Year, 2016. Farewell, 2015

Happy New Year everybody! All of you, to the people who have been in the New Year for a day, for those just entering the New Year and those of you who are watching it approach on the clock.

Last year... last year in all I think was good. It was so long and so much happened that I struggle to believe it was just one year, yet at the same time I'm surprised at how fast it felt it went. Last year I hit a few of milestones. I turned 18. I survived 1 year at my job. I had my 5th year anniversary on Shelfari. I also, sometime between August and Christmas, passed the 5 year friendship mark with my best friend in the U.S.

Throughout 2015 I began studying acting, I finally stepped out to follow my dream of one day becoming an actor. I found an awesome class and had an amazing teacher who taught me so much and helped me discover the confidence I needed to step out of my shell and begin chasing that dream. I had the extreme pleasure to be an extra in a few short films, and met some amazing people who also helped me so much by giving me advice and encouragement. One of my new year resolutions is to be in more films and improve my acting, work up from just being an extra with non-speaking roles to being in a main part.

As well as starting acting last year I began studying. I started a BA in professional writing and publishing, studies to help me improve in my writing and hopefully help me succeed in becoming a known published author. I have a few years ahead of me yet, already I have learned much from the course and it has caused me to question many things and reflect on a lot of things I probably would never have thought of. All of it, of course, helping me improve my writing. I have mixed thoughts on the course, but I am actually looking forward to finishing it and learning new things.

But while both acting and writing are two things I adore being able to do, the absolute highlight of 2015 happened between the 3rd and 28th of December. Through a year of work I began saving, saving for many things: being able to study, saving with the intent to buy a car, but most importantly saving to visit America. Back in 2010 I met a girl online and I never thought anything would come of it. I live in Australia and she lived in the States. It was completely random how we met, it was on a book site and she detests reading, the site had thousands of people on it yet somehow we ended up in the same superhero fan group. 5 years later she is my best friend. On the 12th of December I got to meet her in person for the first time and it was a feeling that is impossible to put into words.

For 2016 I have many plans. I have a book to finish this year and edit up, I've got a full year of coursework ahead, I want to act in more films, and I want to work on some private resolutions. Like the year before and the years before that, I have no idea what 2016 holds, but I am hoping that it will be an improvement from all the years before. Not because the years before were bad, but hoping for the new year ahead to be worse than the others is just odd. I also hope that the year ahead of you is fantastic.

The Scarecrow

One of my assignments for the unit I'm currently doing for my BA is to write a remediation of a text and post it online. So here is my remediation of the song The Scarecrow by Avantasia.

The man woke in the dust. A pale blue, hazy sky greeted his eyes. A burning sun just beyond his peripheral vision made his eyes water. Already he could feel the skin on the back of his neck burning. Hmm, skin. That is interesting, the man thought as he pulled himself to his feet. He looked at the desert surrounding him and his heart ached for the beauty that could have been. It could have been sprawling green fields, rivers and waterfalls, cattle could have grazed on the land and survived, fit and healthy. But it was nothing.

The man moved, his thin, skeletal legs barely supporting his weight. A body, he thought, his mind filling with ideas and thoughts as he examined his hands and arms. He could feel the sun and the dirt beneath his feet. He was hot, his body burned, but it was nothing compared to the burning as his body fell from heaven.

Slowly the man made his way from the desert and entered marsh and swampland. His body struggled to push through tangled vines and peat mud. The cacophonous sounds the jungle insects did nothing to dispel the voice in his head demanding answers to questions he tried so hard to think about. He tried not to think about her, but he wanted to know what had happened to her. He wanted to know how he came to be down on earth, but he tried not to think of the answer he knew awaited him. But he knew there would come a time when he could run no more. There would always be time.

The jungle vines parted before him and he stopped in shock and fear. A bamboo chair took up space between two enormous trees and on it sat a tall, imposing figure in black. The man stepped back in fear, finding himself suddenly trapped as the trees and vines behind him moved to block his way.

‘Who are you?’ the man in the chair asked, straightening up and peering at the lost man.

‘Scarecrow,’ the man replied.

‘Yes,’ replied the man in the chair. ‘And you are very lost. Welcome to my domain, Scarecrow. I wondered how long it would take for you to find your way to me.’

‘Who are you?’

‘Hah! You have fallen from the sky, just as I once fell from the sky. You didn’t believe the rules applied to you, just as I don’t believe they applied to me. Yet you ask me who I am?’ the man did not seem angry, more amused than anything else and Scarecrow found himself trying to take another step backwards. There was something mystifying about the man, the way his face seemed to change from young to old without really changing, and the way his eyes seemed to hold the whole future of the world in them. Scarecrow looked deeply, and found he did not like what he saw.

‘I am, Mephistopheles,’ the man on the chair said at last, rising and moving towards Scarecrow. ‘I am the one to push the pained, I am here to take the fallen away and treat their fears by forcing them to confront them. I am here to penetrate your soul and drag it through this unholy ground until there is nothing left of you that was once holy.’

Scarecrow shivered, but he found himself immersed in what the man had just told him. He felt as if he should be trying to run, but the man’s voice was so sweet and peaceful that he did not know why he should be trying to run.

‘I don’t want to be here,’ Scarecrow managed to say, breaking from the trace the man’s voice had him under. His head left groggy, but the questions still pounded. He remembered her.

Mephistopheles outreached hand snapped back from the inch it had been from Scarecrows head. His face contorted in a glare and he snarled. ‘I can see your thoughts, you think they are pure.’ He spat. ‘Wake up to this world! If what you had was meant to be you would be with her now and not with me!’

Scarecrow stared, his pulse racing as he stared at the suddenly huge and menacing creature before him. It was huge, snarling and vicious, black and winged.

‘No!’ he cried. ‘It was meant to be. There was a time!’ He moved away from the beast, forcing his body through the vines and then his feet were running and he was breaking free.

Trees blurred and swayed, vines swished and creaked around him as he ran for his life. Behind him, he could feel the beat of the giant wings as whatever the man was chased him from above. He broke free from the trees and his bare feet burned as they touched the burning desert.

A dark shade covered and then Mephistopheles had landed before him. The shade disappeared and Mephistopheles was a man again. He held his hands up, non-threateningly, calmly wishing Scarecrow to stop and listen to him.

‘I’m sorry, my friend, if I scared you,’ he purred. ‘It’s obvious that you don’t want to believe she gave you up and made it seem like it was somehow your fault. But your time has come. The winds have changed and blown you here. You believe it’s divine, well push all your stakes in with me and join me, together we will fly away and live peacefully.’

Scarecrow knew, somewhere deep inside, that the sweet words were dangerous. It sounded like he had offered him help, comfort and pity. But what he had heard wasn’t what the man had actually said. Scarecrow also knew that he did not have a choice and that the man would always follow him until he gave in. He knew this stranger was dangerous, but he also knew his time was long since up. He nodded.

Mephistopheles grinned. It was a short flight to hell, but, for Scarecrow, it would last eternity.

NaNoWriMo and Dastardious Hollow Approaches.

National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) is just around the corner, and a very special detective is about to return to life in The Cold Road, a Dastardious Hollow prequel.

Blood bodies are showing up tied to road signs, their hands pointing in the direction of the signs. In the silent dawn there are whispers of unholy things that happen out in the fields late at night, secret ceremonies attended to by hooded men. The townsfolk are freaked, and as the weight of the  deaths threatens to crush the town a young girl is kidnapped. The only evidence left at the scene is a note "The Moon rises in 6, Death rises in 7 and the first blood will water the crops". To James Holland, a fresh up and coming detective, the note makes little sense, but as it is his first case he knows he has one week to find the girl before the moon rises or risk having a black mark across his name.

I am very excited for this year's NaNoWriMo and can't wait to begin writing Hollow's prequel. It's going to be a very busy month as I will still be studying the two units I am taking as well as working. I am not sure how much of the novel I will actually be able to write, but the life of James Holland aka Dastardious Hollow will come to light.

Captain Von Delgo vs Peter Van Werkhoven

Captain Von Delgo is such an obscure name that, for a blog name, I don't know if it fits or not. How many people, if any, come across this blog of mine, read it, and think, 'who the hell is Captain Von Delgo? Why does he blog? And why doesn't the author, Peter Van Werkhoven, who actually writes the blog posts, whose name is actually on the side of the blog above a very brief bio, have his name in the title of the blog instead?'

It's a difficult answer. My name is Peter Van Werkhoven, I am an 18yr old from Australia, I enjoy writing and acting and am studying a BA in Professional Writing and Publishing and work as a kitchen hand in a restaurant. And that's me.

Captain Von Delgo, on the other hand, is also me, but a lot more complicated. Captain Von Delgo is a name that has a long history with me. The name itself is 5 years old and morphed from the nickname I always wanted to be called as a child -'Dingo'.

Dingo was the nickname of an Australian conman in one of the books in the Three Investigators series that I used to read as a kid. I read it, thought 'hey that is awesome, I want to be called that' and organised with my sister that we should call ourselves Australian animals as our nicknames. She choose Queen Brown after the snake and I called myself Dingo. The nickname lasted for a day because the only one we told the name to was our younger brother. The failure was probably due to the fact that I was close to either 11 or 12yrs old and had close to zero friends I could tell the name to.

So, fast forward to August 26, 2010, I was introduced to an online site called Shelfari. Shelfari is an online virtual bookshelf. On this site you can find any book you want, if you can't find it then you can create it and, once created or found, you can add it to your 'shelf' so everyone can see the books you have read, are planning to read, and are currently reading. To a 13yr old who loved to read this was fantastic sounding and I wanted an account. Just to put it out there, Shelfari is the first online site that I ever joined so it was equally exciting for me. I'd been on sites previously but they were always on accounts belonging to my Mum. This Shelfari account was to be mine, all mine. I could add the books I wanted, I could join the groups I wanted, I could write my own biography on my very own profile, I could even talk to who I wanted without having to begin the conversation with 'This is Peter' so that whoever I was talking to would not get confused thinking they were talking to my Mum. As a homeschooled kid this was my idea of a fun time.

However, before I could begin the exploration of this marvelous site, I had to create a username. Well, to a 13yr old who had no experience in these things the option was simple, 'Can I use my name?'

'Sorry, no, you can't use your own name for security reasons. You have to keep that private and choose a name that people won't be able to link back to you. You have to be careful of stalkers and be careful of people who pretend to be other people.'

That was not the answer I received in reply, but it was, however, all the warnings I did receive from my parents and older siblings.

Dilemma, what was I to do? If I couldn't use my real name I would have to think of something else. So... Dingo was the nickname I wanted, but the problem with me was that I could not for the life of me remember how to spell it. I spelled it wrong, but to me it looked correct so I kept the incorrect version which was 'Dengo'. But Dengo sounded so boring. What rhymed with Dengo? Delgo! It was at this moment that I began to add a little of my real name into the mix. I wrote Dengo Van Delgo. It was good, I was pleased, but it didn't quite sit right. Something was wrong. It didn't slide off the tongue. Van was Dutch, yet German's used 'Von'. So, Dengo Von Delgo. I liked it better. But, then, on further thinking, I realised that I had spelt Dingo wrong. Oh the embarrassment. Dingo Von Delgo I did not like so it had to go. What else could I put in to make the name sound better? After some serious thinking I decided that I would put a rank in there. I would be a Captain! I would henceforth be known on the virtual bookself site Shelfari as the Captain Von Delgo!

If you ever want to find me on a site I can tell you now that almost every single one my username will be Captain Von Delgo. I feel just as connected to that name as I am the one I was born with. The thought of naming my blog as 'Captain Von Delgo Blogs' just seemed the natural choice. However, if I want to be known as a writer and as an actor, owning a blog that does not even have my name in the title means that searching for it makes things very difficult. Unless you know I go by Captain Von Delgo how will you find me?

A while back I did change the title of my blog and put my own name in it, but I never really liked it so I changed it back to having my alias in the title. Now I am thinking again that maybe I should go back to using my own name, but it's difficult when I'm just as much Captain Von Delgo as I am Peter Van Werkhoven.

I would, and I have seriously considered it, use that as my pen name, but seeing as Captain Von Delgo is the name of my main character in my fantasy series that would look a little strange. So, because it is an obscure character name that no one really knows, it should go. When I think of a better title for this blog, that is...