Showing posts with label discipline. Show all posts
Showing posts with label discipline. Show all posts

Sunday, 1 December 2024

About me



Hi there, I'm Joel Rheinberger, author and broadcaster.

I have seven books you might want to check out:

ZeitHeist - after the ecological apocalypse, the banks and corporations that ruined the planet build an island paradise for themselves. And a group of Aussie thieves are hired to crack the place open.

The Poppy Lu Series - a young pilot learns to fly without a plane and joins the world of super heroes. Three books so far: (1) Suddenly Super, (2) Surprisingly Super and (3) Seriously Super.

The Hopping Ghost - a wee Scottish vampire finds herself in deep trouble in 1920's Shanghai.

Chick Magnet - a crime caper with a number-crunching assassin tracking down stolen drugs.

Discipline - a modern fantasy about an apprentice to a black magician.

When I'm not writing, I talk for a living on ABC Radio. (But for the record, this blog is purely personal.)

Some of my interviews get played right around the network, so if you live in Australia you've probably heard my voice. Often doing silly things, like getting naked on the radio or brushing a dead whale's teeth.

I also created and presented a long-running ABC podcast called Nerdzilla, which was about comics, computers, sci-fi, super heroes, games, gadgets, and geeks.

Before my time at the ABC, I was a copywriter. I won some awards for it, including a couple of New York Medals.

When I'm not typing or talking, I play games with my friends and teach Loong Choo Kung Fu.

I live in Hobart, truly the most beautiful city in the world, with my equally beautiful wife Iris and my son Louis.

I have an author page on Facebook.

I post on Mastadon now and then.

You can also find me on Blue Sky, Threads and Instagram.

And I would love to email you! Please join my list. 



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Friday, 29 November 2013

Discipline



Around us is an invisible ecosystem of spirit creatures.

Tom Corloni is one of the few people who can see them. But this gift means that they notice him in return - and he looks delicious.

In order to protect himself from magical predators, Tom becomes the apprentice of a black magician.

While other kids are at cricket practice, Tom is learning to deal with demons, trading pieces of himself for safety and power.

But how much will be left by the time he's ready to graduate? And what will he do if his mum finds out?

Discipline is a gripping fantasy tale, taking you from a small country town to the gates of Hell.

If you're in Australia, I can send you a copy for $25 including postage - just message me through Facebook.

If you're elsewhere in the world or you prefer an ebook, you can get Discipline from:
Still not sure? Here's a little sample for you. At this stage of the story, Tom is nine years old and his ancient master is showing him how a magician enforces his borders.
_____________________

At least once a month Kevin would patrol the perimeter and I usually accompanied him. It was a car trip of some twelve hours. We’d drive from town out to the edge of our territory, then do a long loop around it. He had a map with the agreed boundaries on it, hand-drawn in meticulous detail, and we followed it very carefully.

The windows were always wound down, even in the coldest weather. I didn’t know why until the first time we found something.

“Can you smell that?” Kevin said.

I sniffed deeply. There was something rank in the air, a musky miasma that heated my nose like chilli.

“It’s pretty yucky, Master. What is it?”

“It’s not a demon, and it’s nothing holy. What do you think?”

“Something undead? A zombie?”

“Good guess, but no. The spells that generate them generally keep the odour contained. So what else could it be? I know you know it, it’s in the basic texts.”

I sniffed again. It was like really bad breath, with a coppery tang to it. And as I breathed out, there was a hint of wet fur.

“Is it something cursed, like a wendigo or a were?”

“I believe so. We won’t know which until we find it, but it will be something of that sort. A predator, certainly, it stinks of old blood.”

He pulled the car over to the verge and slowed down to a crawl, taking us between the trees until we were completely hidden from the road. Reaching down behind the seat, he extracted a long leather satchel.

“Wait here,” he said, “don’t leave the car for any reason.”

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