Matthew Silvester's Blog
November 26, 2019
Love of Words
Like many people, I have always loved words.
A happy, chubby child, I couldn't walk until almost 22 months of age but was happily chatting away from 9 months. I am assured that it was mostly random ramblings, but if you ask anyone who knows me, this hasn't changed a great deal over the years.
There are benefits and pitfalls for this type of verbosity, Charming versus Idiotic - a fine line often crisscrossed in a single sentence. I have talked my way into and out of more trouble than most people see in several lifetime, more in than out to be fair, the learning curve has been steep and often painful.
With a tongue significantly more practised, agile and enthusiastic than plodding thought, I often find myself listening carefully to my own story, keen to learn how it ends. Or my brain trying desperately to stop feckless tongue from deepening an already neck deep pit of pooh.
Love of the Written Word
Books, comics, newspapers, crosswords, scrabble.
Pretty much any way you could interact with language, I was there.
The Magic Faraway tree by Enid Blyton is the first book I remember reading on my own, followed by everything else she ever wrote.
I have not been without a book since them, backpacking through Europe, Asia, North America over many years or cycling across Eastern Europe after the wall came down, my pack always held at least three book - always and forever physical books, bugger the weight.
No matter where I am or what I have been doing, the last thing I do each night is to read, even if only a few pages – it calms the mind like nothing else.
Using my Words
My writing began in high school, my first book, when I was thirteen was three thousand words and about a rogue planet crashing into earth, illustrated by a friend the story won the school prize that year and my father used in his school for several years.
I loved it, writing something that other people enjoyed reading.
In 1988 at sixteen I won the Australian Bicentennial award for poetry, awarded by Thomas Keneally and Colleen McCullough - her Rome series is in the top 5 all-time historical fiction series I have ever read - will do full list another time.
The poem was written in English class, everyone else was reading Macbeth - reading was the only homework I ever actively consented to comply with.
My teacher submitted the poem without my knowledge, thus winning came as a great surprise and adventure, not only the two hundred dollars prize money but a free trip to Sydney (we lived 400 km's away in a town of 2000 people) and my first ever night in a hotel by myself, plus a formal award ceremony and dinner, the staff out of kindness even served me a few beers.
Late in the evening, when the dinner was complete, an older woman whose name I cannot remember, was making obvious efforts to seduce me, Ms. McCullough seeing me desperately trying to let her, interceded and chaperoned me reluctantly home – I still love her books, regardless of this pious protection of my pubescent purity.
Lots of Words
For thirty years, poetry was the only non, non-fiction I wrote, little diddies for my wife or kitty cats, or just stress relieving linguistic doodling. Then in January 2016, the South African government decided to rethink my industry - Renewable Energy, specifically solar power.
For six years the Renewable Program in SA was world leading with many thousands of megawatts installed and jobs created.
Unfortunately, as in all countries, politics has a marvellous way of inhibiting a countries success, despite (hopefully) best intentions.
Suddenly I found myself with no work, from a packed schedule to inertia in one act of parliament.
Two things became quickly apparent, despite all expectations, I was disturbingly rubbish at doing nothing and secondly, wives hate few things more than an idle husband.
Thus, despite a lifetime of being a cheque book handy man; if it can’t be fixed with duct tape or a hammer the choices are stark – pay someone to fix it or try myself and pay for a new one after that fails disastrously.
But now I found myself water proofing and restoring the bathroom, stripping and plastering the pagoda, building a hammock and other supposedly simple DYI chores.
Finally, with no excuses left, I sat down to write my book - something I have been threatening to do for so long that no one listened any more (I see from the look on many of your faces that you know what I'm saying).
Book one was four months of stream of conscious, a torrent that had been released, the spelling was atrocious and grammar abysmal, but the story was there, as you find it now. I truly hope you read it and enjoy it.
The writing of Book Two, Siege of Dragons, was a slower affair, as the need to do actual paying work reared its ugly head available.
Book Three, as yet to be named, is my work in progress and likely to be released July 2020
A happy, chubby child, I couldn't walk until almost 22 months of age but was happily chatting away from 9 months. I am assured that it was mostly random ramblings, but if you ask anyone who knows me, this hasn't changed a great deal over the years.
There are benefits and pitfalls for this type of verbosity, Charming versus Idiotic - a fine line often crisscrossed in a single sentence. I have talked my way into and out of more trouble than most people see in several lifetime, more in than out to be fair, the learning curve has been steep and often painful.
With a tongue significantly more practised, agile and enthusiastic than plodding thought, I often find myself listening carefully to my own story, keen to learn how it ends. Or my brain trying desperately to stop feckless tongue from deepening an already neck deep pit of pooh.
Love of the Written Word
Books, comics, newspapers, crosswords, scrabble.
Pretty much any way you could interact with language, I was there.
The Magic Faraway tree by Enid Blyton is the first book I remember reading on my own, followed by everything else she ever wrote.
I have not been without a book since them, backpacking through Europe, Asia, North America over many years or cycling across Eastern Europe after the wall came down, my pack always held at least three book - always and forever physical books, bugger the weight.
No matter where I am or what I have been doing, the last thing I do each night is to read, even if only a few pages – it calms the mind like nothing else.
Using my Words
My writing began in high school, my first book, when I was thirteen was three thousand words and about a rogue planet crashing into earth, illustrated by a friend the story won the school prize that year and my father used in his school for several years.
I loved it, writing something that other people enjoyed reading.
In 1988 at sixteen I won the Australian Bicentennial award for poetry, awarded by Thomas Keneally and Colleen McCullough - her Rome series is in the top 5 all-time historical fiction series I have ever read - will do full list another time.
The poem was written in English class, everyone else was reading Macbeth - reading was the only homework I ever actively consented to comply with.
My teacher submitted the poem without my knowledge, thus winning came as a great surprise and adventure, not only the two hundred dollars prize money but a free trip to Sydney (we lived 400 km's away in a town of 2000 people) and my first ever night in a hotel by myself, plus a formal award ceremony and dinner, the staff out of kindness even served me a few beers.
Late in the evening, when the dinner was complete, an older woman whose name I cannot remember, was making obvious efforts to seduce me, Ms. McCullough seeing me desperately trying to let her, interceded and chaperoned me reluctantly home – I still love her books, regardless of this pious protection of my pubescent purity.
Lots of Words
For thirty years, poetry was the only non, non-fiction I wrote, little diddies for my wife or kitty cats, or just stress relieving linguistic doodling. Then in January 2016, the South African government decided to rethink my industry - Renewable Energy, specifically solar power.
For six years the Renewable Program in SA was world leading with many thousands of megawatts installed and jobs created.
Unfortunately, as in all countries, politics has a marvellous way of inhibiting a countries success, despite (hopefully) best intentions.
Suddenly I found myself with no work, from a packed schedule to inertia in one act of parliament.
Two things became quickly apparent, despite all expectations, I was disturbingly rubbish at doing nothing and secondly, wives hate few things more than an idle husband.
Thus, despite a lifetime of being a cheque book handy man; if it can’t be fixed with duct tape or a hammer the choices are stark – pay someone to fix it or try myself and pay for a new one after that fails disastrously.
But now I found myself water proofing and restoring the bathroom, stripping and plastering the pagoda, building a hammock and other supposedly simple DYI chores.
Finally, with no excuses left, I sat down to write my book - something I have been threatening to do for so long that no one listened any more (I see from the look on many of your faces that you know what I'm saying).
Book one was four months of stream of conscious, a torrent that had been released, the spelling was atrocious and grammar abysmal, but the story was there, as you find it now. I truly hope you read it and enjoy it.
The writing of Book Two, Siege of Dragons, was a slower affair, as the need to do actual paying work reared its ugly head available.
Book Three, as yet to be named, is my work in progress and likely to be released July 2020
July 22, 2018
Monster the Great and Glorious
Monster the Great & Glorious (with the four dirty paws)
With golden globes
he viewed his world
from fur of darkest night
Single white star his chest adorned
And mighty frame stood tall
he was my monster of the light
Our Glorious Monster Boy
To Arabian sands he was born
traversed to Africa's tip
home of brethren pride
Yet Monster did not falter
hesitate of stress
this new land he took easily in his stride
Our Glorious Monster Boy
Many years we shared a home
filled with love and cuddles
he filled our life with feline chatter
demanding full tithe
of love and life and living
he left, our souls in tatters
Our Glorious Monster Boy
A gentle tap of his young crown
my lovely wife's first taste
Of our Monsters love and friendship
a touch of his warm grace
Bounded by his cage
she made the shackles slip
Our Glorious Monster Boy
He earned his name through struggle
as he learnt to make his way
our house full to over flowing
with others to compete
the monster found glory
standing large he kept growing
Our Glorious Monster Boy
Another name did he garner
nurturing nature to the fore
Auntie Monster he would be
when new kittens came to call
and woe betide any cat
foolish enough to intercede
Our Glorious Monster Boy
Now his time had come,
thick fur had lost its lustre
and mighty bones grew cold
Yet never did he whimper
or cry out for respite
When death’s cold clutch came calling
to drag him to the night
Our Glorious Monster Boy
His last few weeks were peaceful
sitting in the sun
Laying with his brothers
and ever loving mom
My Monster changed the world
and made it better for all
Our Glorious Monster Boy
Our titan has just left us
passed to the other side
His majesty long faded
his glory past its prime
Shattering hearts abated
we held him one last time
Our Glorious Monster Boy
My puerile rage
and boundless pain
bargaining forgone
denial invaded mind
my soul it cannot take it
my sanity is slain
Our Glorious Monster Boy
In the end he passed gently
to his own good night
mommy and daddy by his side
we held him to our heart
hiding tears from vision
to say his last good bye
Our Glorious Monster Boy
Yet never will he leave us
nor will our pain will subside
though memories of his grandeur
and life or glorious tenure
try to wipe away the thoughts
of my little boy’s demise
Our Glorious Monster Boy
So, my friends who loved him too
you stand here in my heart
As we farewell
the Monster kitty cat
with my tears still flowing
it is time for us to part
Our Glorious Monster Boy
With golden globes
he viewed his world
from fur of darkest night
Single white star his chest adorned
And mighty frame stood tall
he was my monster of the light
Our Glorious Monster Boy
To Arabian sands he was born
traversed to Africa's tip
home of brethren pride
Yet Monster did not falter
hesitate of stress
this new land he took easily in his stride
Our Glorious Monster Boy
Many years we shared a home
filled with love and cuddles
he filled our life with feline chatter
demanding full tithe
of love and life and living
he left, our souls in tatters
Our Glorious Monster Boy
A gentle tap of his young crown
my lovely wife's first taste
Of our Monsters love and friendship
a touch of his warm grace
Bounded by his cage
she made the shackles slip
Our Glorious Monster Boy
He earned his name through struggle
as he learnt to make his way
our house full to over flowing
with others to compete
the monster found glory
standing large he kept growing
Our Glorious Monster Boy
Another name did he garner
nurturing nature to the fore
Auntie Monster he would be
when new kittens came to call
and woe betide any cat
foolish enough to intercede
Our Glorious Monster Boy
Now his time had come,
thick fur had lost its lustre
and mighty bones grew cold
Yet never did he whimper
or cry out for respite
When death’s cold clutch came calling
to drag him to the night
Our Glorious Monster Boy
His last few weeks were peaceful
sitting in the sun
Laying with his brothers
and ever loving mom
My Monster changed the world
and made it better for all
Our Glorious Monster Boy
Our titan has just left us
passed to the other side
His majesty long faded
his glory past its prime
Shattering hearts abated
we held him one last time
Our Glorious Monster Boy
My puerile rage
and boundless pain
bargaining forgone
denial invaded mind
my soul it cannot take it
my sanity is slain
Our Glorious Monster Boy
In the end he passed gently
to his own good night
mommy and daddy by his side
we held him to our heart
hiding tears from vision
to say his last good bye
Our Glorious Monster Boy
Yet never will he leave us
nor will our pain will subside
though memories of his grandeur
and life or glorious tenure
try to wipe away the thoughts
of my little boy’s demise
Our Glorious Monster Boy
So, my friends who loved him too
you stand here in my heart
As we farewell
the Monster kitty cat
with my tears still flowing
it is time for us to part
Our Glorious Monster Boy
January 31, 2018
Sabbatical to Write
What would you do with a Sabbatical?
I worked in corporations for over 25 years with the last 12 in senior management, this involved:
- 80 plus hour work weeks
- Never more than 2 weeks holiday a year (almost impossible not to work on holidays as work never stops)
- 7 days a week work load (I tried not to work sunday afternoons)
- Mobile never stopped (put it to silent between midnight and 6am)
- Over 100 email received a day (sent 70)
- 120 days a year away from home.
- 30 direct reports
The hardest thing to get used to was my phone stopped ringing, 10 years heavy addiction to smart phones and suddenly you are getting 2 or three calls a day
I spent few weeks travelling around Portugal but didn't want to do any more as was sick to death of travel, airports and hotels
Once home it is hard to replace 80 hours of work,
I created an organic vegetable garden (13 vegetables, 3 berries (straw, black & Blue) and a few fruit trees.
I stripped, repaired and repainted the pagoda
re did upstairs bathroom
Built a hammock
Crap, two weeks gone and interesting stuff done.
My wife was a never ending fount of suggestions for chores I could do
To avoid those, I wrote a novel.
I had not written for pleasure since University
Loved It
Not going back to work :)
What would you do with a year off?
I worked in corporations for over 25 years with the last 12 in senior management, this involved:
- 80 plus hour work weeks
- Never more than 2 weeks holiday a year (almost impossible not to work on holidays as work never stops)
- 7 days a week work load (I tried not to work sunday afternoons)
- Mobile never stopped (put it to silent between midnight and 6am)
- Over 100 email received a day (sent 70)
- 120 days a year away from home.
- 30 direct reports
The hardest thing to get used to was my phone stopped ringing, 10 years heavy addiction to smart phones and suddenly you are getting 2 or three calls a day
I spent few weeks travelling around Portugal but didn't want to do any more as was sick to death of travel, airports and hotels
Once home it is hard to replace 80 hours of work,
I created an organic vegetable garden (13 vegetables, 3 berries (straw, black & Blue) and a few fruit trees.
I stripped, repaired and repainted the pagoda
re did upstairs bathroom
Built a hammock
Crap, two weeks gone and interesting stuff done.
My wife was a never ending fount of suggestions for chores I could do
To avoid those, I wrote a novel.
I had not written for pleasure since University
Loved It
Not going back to work :)
What would you do with a year off?
