With the increasing number of self published books appearing on sites such as Lulu and Amazon, we are also seeing a plethora of poorly designed, un-appealing book covers hit those sites. They say that “You can’t judge a book by it’s cover” which is a very true statement, but I believe that you can sell, or certainly boost sales, of your book by the cover you choose to use. I have been designing covers for Authors books for some time now and have received a lot of great and positive feedback for the work that I have done. It has been an interesting research trip to discover what sort of covers are out there and, what is and isn’t appealing about them.

The first things that come to mind for me regarding cover designing are;

1. The cover should have a strong and crisp image – (I have seen so many pixelated, poor quality images used on covers)
2. The cover should relate to the content inside the book – (You don’t want to create a negative feeling from your reader because you have a picture of a cat on your cover when your book is really about dogs. The reader feels cheated and lied to, even if it is subconsciously)
3. Titles and Author name should not be lost amidst the image – (There are some great images on books with small and hard to read titles that blend into the image far too much)
4. Maintain originality (Too often Authors are trying to ‘re-create’ covers that they love)

The cover should be an ‘over-all’ design. Image doesn’t do it alone. The relationship between the image used and the title are extremely important, and type font comes into play here. A font you find arty or attractive  may be that when used in a document, but combined with an image as an overall cover design may render the work awkward to look at or even read. Crisp readable fonts are important.

With the excitement of finishing a book and getting it ‘up there’ for everyone to read, over looking cover design can be an easy thing to do. As an Author you want what is best for your work, and over looking this area can be detrimental to your sales. There are websites out there that offer you a free online cover design feature, Lulu is one of these, however the online design software leaves much of the creativity involved in creating a cover behind. They are limited in functionality and quite often only allow you to place an image and text. This isn’t enough to create a winning cover which takes much more time and requires far more advanced software. A Google search will reveal many services that offer cover designs for as little as $25-$50 but again, these services are limited and it’s well worth noting that “you get what you pay for”. A good designer can charge anywhere between $200 and $500 to do a cover, the latter an extreme. What you get from investing that type of money into your cover is a good start to your books future, however, is it worth the investment? As an author you place care, effort and an un-imaginable amount of creativity into nurturing your words to life, and by ignoring the importance of the cover you wrap those words in you are not only doing yourself an injustice, but your work as well. If that isn’t worth the investment I’m not sure what is. So what do I think you should be paying for a cover design to accompany your book? I would say between $200 and $250 would be a safe estimate. This amount of money should get you an outstanding design.

Your $250 should cover the initial design and two changes you may request to the design. It’s important to remember that the designer may advise you that a change you want to make may not be a good design choice but it is ultimately up to you whether you follow that advice. When choosing a designer you will also need to make sure you are both clear on the requirements for your use of the design;

1. Do you own the design outright?
2. Does the designers fee only include the right for you to use the design as your book cover?
3. Is there some sort of royalty you will need to pay to the designer for every book sold with that cover?
4. Does the designers name need to be included in the first few pages of the book?

It is important to make the right decisions about your new book from the start and it’s easy to get caught up in the excitement of getting it out there as quickly as possible. Keep in mind that skipping important decisions such as your cover design may decrease the sales and success of you books.

If you would like me to assist in the design of your next book cover, the formatting required to your manuscript to make it compatible with the eBook format requirements or for conversion to PDF, head to my contact page and hit me up.

Check out the preview of the first two chapters below and feel free to comment. I apologise for the lack of ability to format the text correctly on the following extract.

ONE

They emerged from the blackness that’s the dim corners and low hide-aways of the alley. They’re like bats exiting their cave. I’m taken by surprise. I was distracted. Not my usual self. The first indication of their presence I get is a sense of movement followed by a blow to the side of my head. It’s forceful enough to bring me to my knees but not enough to leave my mind blank. And that’s his first mistake. His second is his bravado.

“Like that bitch?” Russian. He chuckles. Looks for his other comrades. That was all I needed to pull the switch blade from my boot, eject it, and drive it into his leg just below the knee.

The wail a man makes when you jab him in such a tender place reminds me of the first cry of a newborn baby. It screams mummy. Well, mummy aint’ gonna help you now you son-of-a-bitch. I don’t have much time. I pull the knife free and in a fluid move get to my feet, swing behind the Russian oaf, and with one arm around his chest I slit his throat. He gurgles and reflexively elbows my right tit. Gurgles some more and begins to slide to the ground. It’s not a nice sound. My tit throbs. My arm hurts from trying to carry the weight of a man twice my own. I don’t falter.

Dropping the knife I reach around his mass and into his coat to rest my hand on the butt of his gun. Russians. Always packing at the shoulder. You can always count on that one. One of his approaching comrades fires off a shot. Lucky for me it lodges in the now dead weight I’m holding onto without going all the way through. I glance up quickly.

Not a bad day to get shot but unfortunately I don’t have the time boys.

I have confidence with a gun and it isn’t long before comrade number one is on the ground, oozing his life away. I take quick aim at comrade number two and squeeze the trigger. My shot lodges in his lower belly. What a painful place to get shot. I was aiming for his head. He goes down, his own gun clanking to the dirty ground. I drop my heavy shield and notice the blood soaked through my left sleeve. The cut throat must have been flowing like a broken hydrant. I assess the scene before me. The ever expanding red puddles that stream from beneath my attackers mean about as much to me as the sewerage flowing out the clogged up grates of the alleyway. I push back the urge to blow the barrel of the Makarov like they do in the cowboy movies. It takes something special to get the best of me.

Comrade two is still alive. I’m sure it’s only barely. I approach him warily, but with an outward confidence. You never give away your nerves. It only serves to provide a cockiness to your enemy. I crouch beside him and make a point of pushing my gun to his temple as I lean my face close to his.

“Who the fuck are you?”

All I get from him is more panting. A few groans and a slight grin on his face. I admire his bravery in the face of death. I once watched a man with a severed limb stand back up, determined to continue his fight. The mind and the body can carry your aggression to the end if you are strong enough to let it.

“Who the fuck are you?” I repeat.

The brave Russian spits blood into my hovering face. He laughs momentarily before the sound turns to a drowning gurgle. The flood of death streams from his mouth as his eyes close for the last time.

Searching for ID on the three bodies, I’m not surprised to find that there isn’t any. You’d have to be an amateur to carry ID while you were doing business. Dirty business. The alleyway’s a mess. At least, more of a mess than usual with the addition of three blood covered bodies. It’s probably in my best interest not to park my bike here tonight. To get out quick. I tuck the Russian’s gun into my jeans. I need a drink anyway.

TWO

The rattle and shake of the xv750’s v-twin tickles my vagina. I can never help but juice up to the vibrations I get when riding a motorbike and tonight’s no different as I pull into the carpark of the Crabbed Dame. The flickering blue, pink and yellow neon soothes the atmosphere of the dirty street. I like the reflections the neon makes in the wet street. The faded paint-marked signs on the facade a testament to the Dame’s longevity.

Stale tobacco stench, spilt and moulding alcohol and sweaty unbathed bodies greet me inside the door. It always reminds me so much of my Daddy. It’s soothing. The regulars sit at their stools. The same stools, day in day out. Buck, the sixty year old poet who drinks away his lack of success. Red-nosed, weathered and balding. Tammie, the mid thirties whore dolled up and drunk as usual. Mutton dressed up as lamb. Tammie hates me. Tammie hates any other woman that walks into the Dame because Tammie hates all competition. Charlie is sitting in his dark return at the end of the bar. His name used to be Charles Edward the Third, or so he says. His family used to run an import business until his father lost his fortune to a hooker smarter than they gave her credit for. Signed his entire life away with a swish of wet pussy and false promises. I don’t know much more than that, except all Charlie does is drinks and fucks these days. He lifts his drink at me and gets back to it.

Bob pushes my drink across the bar before my ass is on the stool. Gin. Slight twist of lime and on the rocks. Just like Daddy used to drink. Bob’s been like a father to me. Always looking out for me. Never treating me any other way than like his own little girl. A big man with hands large enough to wrap around one of my thighs. A giant in build and in the attitude that oozes off him to anyone who enters the bar. I watched him snap a man’s arm in half once and he didn’t even break a sweat. Yeah, a giant of a man, but a gentle giant to me.

“You been gettin’ yourself into trouble again by the looks.” He points at the side of my face. Must be bruised where the Russian hit me. I have blood all over me.

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Yeah, well, remember I’m here if you need me.”

“Say no more.”

“Listen. You need anything? Money?” He says it quiet enough so the rest of the bar doesn’t hear.

“No. I’m good. Got a few job possibilities coming my way.”

He pours me another drink. “Speakin’ of. A broad came in here looking for you. Yesterday I think it was. Said I should give you her number.”

“OK.”

He retrieves a piece of paper from next to the register. I read it.

URGENT

315-7896-5672

Not much to go on.

“She was a bit of looker that one.” Says Bob. “Had on a real tight purple dress. Her legs looked like a highway to heaven. Reckon Charlie nearly had a heart attack.”

“Charlie’d nearly have a heart attack watching Playschool.” I was dry. Had another swig.

“Anyhow, she seemed pretty keen on seeing you. Was gonna’ wait for you ‘till I told her it could be days ‘fore I seen you.”

“She say anything else?”

“No. Glanced around the bar a bit, took an interest in Charlie, then left as quick as she came in.”

“Thanks Bob.” I stuff the paper in the front pocket of my jeans.

“Alright.” He wanders off to do what bar tenders do.

My hand wanders back to my drink while my mind wanders back to the Russians in the alleyway. I try to think of any work I had done for Russians. None comes to mind. I’d done work for the Italians, the Jamaicans, even an English gentleman, but never a Russian. They were obviously professionals. Or as professional as dead men can be. I knew enough about them to know that they ran organized crime, packed from the shoulder and had brutal and ruthless reputations. But that was where it ended. So what would they want with me?

“I’ve got room on my face for one.”

I turn. “Charlie.”

“Willow.”

He motions at the stool next to me.

“Sure Charlie.”

“So how are you on this fine but wet evening Willow?”

I like Charlie’s English accent. Accents turned me on. Some more than others.

“Good.”

“You seemed to have developed quite the bruise on the side of your face there. Are you sure good is the appropriate term?”

“Yeah. Russians.”

“Russians?”

“Yeah.”

“Interesting enough. Bob! Another round for myself and this charming lady! So tell me more Willow. About these Russians.” Emphasis on Russians.

“No more to tell Charlie.”

“Oh, a bruise like that! The blood. There must be more.”

“What is it to you? Leave it. Mind your own business.”

He looks hurt but not taken aback. “Sure. Sure…”

“What do you want Charlie?” My patience as usual is slightly thin.

“How about it Willow? I’ve got a spare hundred here.”

I guess that’s the power of a woman. Running short of cash? An easy hundred was always standing in front of you. I have no shame. I have a veejay, well shaped b-cups and people seem to comment on my ass all the time (even if most of them are drunks).

“Sure Charlie. I’ll meet you in the bathroom in five.”

Bob places the drinks in front of us. Charlie skulls his like an eager boy wanting to get back to his toys and staggers off to the bathroom.

“What are you doin’ Willow?”

“What?”

“You don’t need to do that shit.”

“I don’t need to do anything Bob, but I do what I do. Leave it.”

Bob throws his arms in the air. He looks disappointed.

“Ok, ok…” He says.

Tammie glares at me from her perch.

“Fucking whore,” she screams, “Fucking two bit whore. Who the fuck do you think you are? This is my bar. These are my fucking clients and I don’t need no fucking bitch takin’ them away from me.”

“Shut the fuck up Tammie.” I respond. “Have another drink.” I slam the rest of mine down and get up.

“You shut the fuck up.” She sounds teary.

I giggle. It doesn’t help the situation.

“I’m gonna kick your tits in bitch!” She gets off her stool un-gracefully.

I like Tammie. She seems like a nice girl just trying to get by in life like the rest of us. It must be hard for a person who relies so much on body and looks to survive when those very qualities take a downward spiral. When they react so dramatically to the constant abuse of drugs and alcohol. Poor Tammie’s only clientele nowadays are the ancient and dis-figured, the type that spend their days in dirty bars drinking stale alcohol and smoking cheap cigarettes. So when I hit her, I hit a little more gentle than usual. Her breath leaves her as she hits the floor. I make my way to the bathroom to a wheezing soundtrack as the poor whore continues to search for her breath. I cringe a little as I go, it’s got to be one of the worst feelings, struggling for the very air that keeps you alive.

Stale piss smells so much better than stale beer. The bathrooms in the Dame are dirtier than the tug booths at a busy adult store. But they serve their purpose, and tonights purpose is an easy hundred in my pocket. Charlie’s waiting for me.

“All right Charlie, suck only. Hundred bucks.”

I prefer women to men. Although I don’t really understand why I sometimes think it has to do with trying to connect myself to some type of femininity. I never was a doll kind of girl. Don’t get me wrong I’m not butch, in fact, I look as slight as the best of them. My difference is that I know how to look after myself. I rely on no-one. If it needs doing, I’m your woMAN. There’s no underlying need to leave home made up, to prance in high heals with a matching handbag hanging from my shoulder. It’s not practical. Especially in my kind of work.

Based on the law of one’s average experience, Charlie’s pretty well hung for an Englishman, and unlike most drunks, he doesn’t have a problem getting it up. It’s not the first time I’ve had this slab of meat in my mouth. I’m good at giving head on both sides of the fence and it isn’t long before I have Charlie moaning with pleasure. You can tell when a man’s about to blow because his balls start pulsating, and it was as soon as Charlie’s began to do so that the bathroom door opened with an ear splitting crack that resounded around the small dirty room.

It all happened so quickly. One minute Charlie’s balls were beginning to pulsate, the next my ears were ringing death, my hair was matted with his brains and his cock was pulling from my mouth as he slid down the wall, the white goo on my chin his last good-bye. I didn’t hear whoever pulled the trigger leave, but I did hear the blast of a shotgun from out in the bar. Trying not to look at Charlie’s caved in head as I extract his wallet and mobile from his pocket, I move out the bathroom door with the Makarov in my hand pretty quickly.

I was worried about Bob, pointlessly though it seems. He stands over the body of a man, face down on the floor, a gaping shotgun-blasted hole in his back. His blood’s pooling and his leg’s still convulsing. It’s reminiscent of an Elvis dance as it jiggles about in random sequence.

“Fuck.” It’s all I’ve got.

Bob just stares at me, smoking shotgun propped up on his hip like he’s posing for an action movie poster. Bob, the shotgun toting gunslinger from the shitty side of town. I can see no regret in his face. Bob does what he needs to in this hell hole and this is just another one of those cases. I admire him standing there.

“The other fucker got away.” He says.

“Do you know who they are?” I ask him.

“Nope. Never seen ‘em before. Can’t mistake them ugly faces though. Russians.”

“Russians.” I say. “Fucking Russians.”

“Um…” Bob gestures at his own face, “You should get cleaned up and get out of here.”

“What would Charlie have to do with Russians?” I ask.

“No idea. Maybe they were here for you?”

“Maybe. That was a hit, pure and simple.”

The whole thing was too efficient to be anything but a hit, despite their lack of expectation that they would be met by a shotgun wielding bar tending giant. If they were here for me I doubt they would have got Charlie instead. Unless, of course, it was meant only as a warning. In this business everyone’s a pawn, expendable. What’s the life of a drunk if you get your message across?

“Willow, you need to go.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

I clean up a little in the Ladies Room and head back out to the bar. Bob’s poured me a drink. It’s on the counter. I pick it up and down it in one. Thirsty. Needed that. It was turning into an interesting evening. Bob hands me a full bottle.

“Here. Take that with you.”

“Thanks. I need it.”

“We all need it. ‘Cept for him.” He gestures to Buck’s stool. The old poet is fast asleep at the counter. He’s dribbling, snoring a little.

“He sleep through the whole thing?”

“Yup.”

“Fuck.” I say.

“Yup.”

“And Tammie?”

“Ran out the door screaming her head off. Who knows where she might be now.”

“Fuck. I can’t get caught up in this Bob.”

“I know. That’s why you gotta go.”

“She’ll blab.”

“I’ll talk to her.” He tries to reassure me.

“Good.”

“Now go.”

“OK.”

I take the full bottle of Gin with gratitude and head out the door.

Bob stops me. “Willow.”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful.”

“I will Bob. Promise.”

I know I’m all the old guy has in life besides the Crabbed Dame. Like a daughter. I wish I could be more normal for him. But I can’t. I am who I am and I do what I have to do. I’m pretty sure the big guy understands that. Besides, what constitutes normal in this world and who’s judgement is it?

Outside the night’s cooler than I remember. Looking at the reflection of neon on the dirty pavement I feel a small pang of sadness at what’s gone down. With a full bottle of Gin tucked into my jacket, a dead man’s phone and wallet, a Russian’s old Makarov and a face bruised and starting to swell, I fire the 750 into life. The sound as always, helps to soothe me. To calm my nerves a little. I can’t stay at the bar. I can’t stay at home. I roar from The Crabbed Dame, the sound of the motorbike amplified by the stillness of the late hour, what an interesting fucking night…

Thanks for your interest in owning one of my books. Purchasing through seankingonline.com is safe and secure. We use PayPal for payment. You don’t require a PayPal account, just a valid credit card. If you would prefer to purchase through Amazon or Lulu the links are at the bottom of this page.

Empire of the Mind is a collection of poetry and writing written by Sean King. This is the first published book by Sean.  His

second book Like the Dog I Am was released in 2012.

Empire of the Mind is a self published poetry and writing book by the editor of FINGER magazine.

“Dark, moody and gritty tales of life, love and loss. Madness and beauty rolled into one.”
Review by Dymocks, Adelaide

“This book, It was beautiful. Beautiful because it made me laugh and because it even made me cry. At times I thought some of them must have been written about me they hit that close to home. It was honest. At some points I would read a page and have to sit there just thinking about what was written, the string of words that had stopped me in my tracks. I do not usually read books such as this but made an exception. For me it was hard to read, because I’m usually a start to finish story kind of reader, alas I did enjoy it.”
Gods Girls book reviews 

Buy now for just $16.00. Includes postage.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Like the Dog I Am is the second poetry and writing collection by Sean King. Published in 2012 by Blunt Trauma Press.

“When he told me he needed a fountain pen, I dismissed it as normal, what normal passes for anyhow in this world we inhabit. And then, later, I thought, hold on, he’s going to stick that nib into his vein and write a book out of his own blood. A few moments of panic and then normality grabbed me again, bit me hard on the cheek. I could see him doing it too, hunched over his desk, the one with the cartridges on it, madly scribbling verse in his own métier. Later, compelled by gnawing cold and dead bang fusion induced by god’s nectar, I called. He mumbled something, late-night obscenities -caffeine-inspired rage of the insomniac. I let it go at that, all was well in our small page of the global book. He rang me later, as the moon bowed out and the big yellow ball gripped folk’s throats again. Here, it’s finished. He told me coldly. How could he write a poetry book in . . . I cut myself short, Hank had done it once out of fear, fear of losing the artery of creation. I read it, went to a bar and ordered tequila. I was after the lime and salt, something to mask the sting his words had left in my mouth. He wrote this book for you because you are the axis. I don’t know who you are, but I know who he is, he’s a dog, a dog that roams the night looking for tomorrow. When he told me he needed a fountain pen, I knew why, I just didn’t know he’d slaughter language with it.” – Teri Louise Kelly

Purchase Like the Dog I Am now for just $14.00 . Includes postage.

OTHER PLACES YOU CAN PURCHASE MY BOOKS;

Like the Dog I Am

Amazon

Paperback: Purchase on Amazon

eBook: Purchase on Amazon

Lulu:

Paperback: Purchase on Lulu

Empire of the Mind

Amazon

Paperback:

eBook: Purchase on Amazon

Lulu

Paperback: Purchase on Lulu

Head to my contact page if you have any queries.

Chris Juergensen wrote and recorded the theme song for A Nun a Gun and a Prostitute this month in Tokyo. The link provided below will take you to his website and also allow you to hear the song. It’s called “Nostalgia’s Fate” and Chris has captured the whole vibe of the film amazingly. Go to his site, check out his music and buy his albums. I have!

SYNOPSIS…
“The mini-series, A Nun, A Gun and A Prostitute by writer/director Sean King follows the journey of Nostalgia; a high class call girl. But Nostalgia (Vanessa Bockman) is not your typical call girl. When confronted by her disgruntled pimp, Lester, having not received his cut from her last job, Nostalgia’s double life begins to unfold. We soon discover who Nostalgia really is, and she is not the only one in this twisted tale with a secret.
This series follows Nostalgia’s quest for a better life, with her morality and courage depicting her as a modern day Joan of Arc.”

A Nun a Gun and a Prostitute

CAST

Nostalgia Vanessa Bockmann, Lester Sam Tripodi, Detective Rayner Terry Rogers, Father Andrews Dwayne Watts, Street Bum Jeremy Kelly-Baker, Rayner’s Partner Matt Swanson, Nun Sharron Malujilo, Street Kid Daniel McKinnin, Choir Boy 1 Joshua Gutowski, Choir Boy 2 Jess Ellis, Young Prostitute Kate Englefield, Client Nick Buckland, Uniformed Officer 1 Steve Harwood, Uniformed Officer 2 Carina Gun, Young Female Camila Kilbane, Father Michael Adrian Crawford
CREW

Producers Sean King Mat Zilm, Writer Sean King, Director Sean King, Cinematographer Sean King, Director’s Assistant Camila Kilbane, 1st Assistant Director Adam Carter, Art Director Kelly Jade King, Art Director’s Assistant Steve Harwood, 1st Camera Assist Mat Zilm, 2nd Camera Assist Emma Dodd, Clapper Shaylee King, Production/Unit Manager Sara Ricci, Grip Ben Margitich, Runner Alyson Mitchell, Pre-Production Assistant Jarrad Thomas, Continuity Camila Kilbane, Continuity Assistant “Objective” Kelly Jade, Continuity Assistant “Physical” Mat Zilm, Sound J. B. Williams, Wardrobe Brooke Ambler, Wardrobe Assist Shannon Wren
Costume Creators; Lilian Newson Linda Thomas, Makeup Key Kristy Bassett, Makeup Assist; DanBonini Jessica Bailey, Catering; Jarrad Thomas Sara Ricci, Editors; Sean King Camila Kilbane Adrian Crawford, Post VFX Jeremy Kelly-Baker, Stills Photographer Damir Ivka, Data Wrangler Adrian Crawford

THE NIGHT IS COLD
Poetry in motion. This is a short film made from the short story of the same title in Sean King’s book Empire of the Mind.

Shot on location in Adelaide South Australia. You can purchase the book here;
seankingonline.com/?page_id=1554

CAMP QUALITY FILMING DAY – SISTER MARY, VIGILANTE, NUN.

We recently got invited to do some film making for Camp Quality. For those of you that don’t know Camp Quality it is a camp run for children with cancer. They do amazing things for the kids with the slogan “Laughter is the best medicine”.

The concept behind the film making was that we film two films on the day scheduled, edit both the next day and on the third they were to screen the films and have a Oscars night (giving out Oscar Awards to the kids). There were three film makers and each of us were to do two films.

We basically had three hours to film each one and the kids didn’t actually read any scripts – in fact until it was time to film we hadn’t even met them!

Sister Mary Vigilante, Nun…

Anyway, This is one of the films I did. The kids, not just in this film but all others are the happiest most supportive and wonderful bunch of children I have met in my life. And the staff that support the kids at the camp are equally amazing.

If you are thinking of supporting a charity please consider Camp Quality as they are an incredible organisation.

Enjoy

BAD DREAMS…
Video film clip for local Adelaide Artist Iain Wright. Bad Dreams is the first song on his new album titled “Keep It Stupid Simple”.

Shot on locations south of Adelaide using the Canon 7D.

Who is that Chick..?
We have been asked by many who the girl in the video clip is. Her name is Kate Englefield. Kate is a well known and extremely intelligent actor from Adelaide South Australia. We wer lucky to have Kate involved in the film as our original actor pulled out at the last minute. Thankfully she did as we couldn’t have had a more amazing person than Kate working in the film.

Kate has also secured a role in our mini-series A Nun a Gun and a Prostitute which is in post production.

FURTHER INFORMATION…
Bad Dreams is the first son in Iains brand debut album titled Keep It Stupid Simple.

To purchase a copy of Keep It Stupid Simple just follow the link to the iTunes store below. If you would like to contact any then please use the contact form on this site and we will forward your information.

To purchase Iains CD please just follow this itunes link – Purchase

CULTIVORES
This is a film preview of the new novel by Teri-Louise Kelly titled Cultivores.

After the diseases, the eradication policies and the storm, descendants of the survivors inhabit a world overrun with true blue idolatry of the Old People’s pop-culture. In Capital Investment, the slogan-mad Corporation rule in alliance with the immortality-chasing Chic Creatures, while the majority of New People toil on locos trying to replace a number with a title.
Meeting what he thinks is the fabled carrier of the faiths, one untitled man becomes the emissary’s guide through the lands of Cultivation; where circular time is bought and sold, blue is more precious than gold and the math predominates. Accompanied by The Drifter, a former Corporation assassin, and machine girls, prototypes of the (ideal) women of the future, together they journey to the mythological Urban Jungle – the vine-encrusted super city standing resolutely testament to the Old People’s ambition and ego.

For one it is a mission to reinstate the faiths, for another a quest for knowledge, and for the Drifter, a chance to redeem himself in the eyes of Evangelista, the ruler-in-exile. What awaits them in the remains of the past though is betrayal and irony; a choice between unstable order or another pointless war – the choice which is no choice at all. Cultivation is a world divided by frighteningly familiar parallels. A world where having a name means everything, and where those who control the present – control the past.
“Cultivores is a savagely ironic take on human existence post-climatology atrocity, a Wizard of Oz-esque trek through Naked Lunch’s sci-fi pantheon, where pop-cult ideologies reign and Orwell’s prophetic 1984 is fast-forwarded to a bizarre conclusion.”

REGRETS
This is the fourth film written and directed by Sean King. Like My Life Oh Roulette, Regrets tackles the darker side of an ever-present issue in society – this time the lack of justice served to those who kill an innocent person through dangerous or drink driving.

Filmed entirely on location in a Launderette in Adelaide, South Australia; Regrets looks into the effect on the family of someone killed. It also touches on the deep desire for revenge that each of us hold within, especially when our justice system allows these people to walk away without charge. The film was written in memory of Adam Rust and in dedication to his wife and family who were left behind to pick up the pieces after Adam was killed on his honeymoon in Tasmania – just one week to the day after his wedding.

Regrets was produced by Fiona DeCaux and stars Terry Rogers as “Andy” and Nina Pearce as “Jules”. It has just been entered into the Adelaide Shorts Festival for 2009.

In 2009 Regrets premiered at the Indie Film Festival and was a great success, highlighting the need for a review of the laws relating to Drink Driving.

Special thanks’ goes to Chris Juergensen for the use of his amazing music from the album titled Big Bad Sun. You can purchase this amazing album through iTunes.

Regrets

CAST – Andy Terry Rogers, Jules Nina Pearce, Officer 1 Sean King, Officer 2 Josh Williams
CREW – Producer Fiona De Caux, Writer Sean King, Director Sean King, Director of Photography Andrei Gostin, 1st Assistant Director Theo Benton, Sound Josh B. Williams Jason Badenoch, Art Director Theo Benton, Wardrobe Theo Benton, Makeup Joanna Clayton, Production Assistants Jack De Caux Neil Beevers, Post Production Sean King, Andrei Gostin
SOUNDTRACK – “Sweet Melissa” – Chris Juergensen From the Album Big Bad Sun, “Nothing’s Been The Same” – Adam Schmitt From the Album Sad Bastard Music, WITH THANKS TO – Shiny Brights Laundry – Paul Kousiandas, Uni SA Production Office, South Australian Police, Australian Federal Police, Adelaide Airport Limited

MY LIFE OH ROULETTE
Based on a true story, My Life Oh Roulette delves into the mind of a character named in the film as Broken (played by Joshua Gordon).

After suffering a nervous break down due to overwork, the demise of his marriage and a lack of interaction and time with his daughter, Broken has been diagnosed with Bi-Polar Disorder by his doctor and is undergoing Psychiatrist sessions and drug therapy, as with many people wrongly trapped by the dark realms of medical society.

The Bi-Polar diagnosis is incorrect, merely an easy solution to his doctors inability to treat correctly.
Over a period of 18 months being administered drugs not meant for someone without this disorder, Broken experiences a downturn within his mind and his life becomes a theatrical experience in which two sides of him battle for his true sanity.

The film represents two elements of his mind – Torment (played by Desislava Ivanova) is his minds representation of the drugs and the torment these chemicals are creating inside. Inner Self (Emma Manthorpe) is the sanity within, lost, battered and desperate to fight with the drugs that are pushing Broken closer to suicide each day. Broken sits within his mind, relating moments in his life to that of a game of Russian roulette as Torment tries so hard to push him over the edge.

These are the unfortunate realities that we face in a society where drug company kick-backs are often a means for doctors to randomly prescribe drugs to patients all too easily and without any real need. A climate of degradation in health and a doctors lack of knowledge can ultimately lead to an easy “copout”. “Oh was sad three times this week, he must have Bi-Polar,” “His breakdown has to have been caused by Bi-Polar”.

In this harsh film, Sean King tries to bring forth the realities and horrors of mis-diagnosis and the all too easy prescription of drugs so powerful that can turn a tired but sane man into a mind spin – ultimately leading him to a suicide which should never have happened.

Through the use of camera, post edit and an amazing original music score written by Michael Taylor, Sean creates a disturbing yet thought provoking film that delves deep into the mind of a man who was un-necessarily Broken…

The film was shot using the Sony FX1 in 16:9 Standard Definition and is available in All Region formats.

My Life Oh Roulette

CAST – Broken Joshua Gordon, Torment Desislava Ivanova, Inner Self Emma Manthorpe, CREW – Producer Sean King, Writer Sean King, Director Sean King, Director of Photography Sean King, Production Assistant Belinda Maloney, 2nd Camera Assist Frank Priolo, Lighting Sean King, Costume Sean King, Location & Set Design Sean King, Makeup & Special Effects Sean King, Post Production Sean King, Assistant Editor Dino Maoutsidis, Stills Photographer Sean King Belinda Maloney, Makeup Assist Desislava Ivanova Emma Manthorpe, Sound Design Build, Destroy, Build Again…, Sound Designers Josh B. Williams Jason Badenoch, Foley Editor Josh B. Williams, Foley Artist Jason Badenoch, ORIGINAL SOUNDTRACK BY
Michael Taylor at Audio Architect, SPECIAL THANKS TO – Shaylee King, Frank Priolo, Lucy Cheeseman, Trevor Ogilvie, Robert Armour, Iain Wilson, Phil Tilbrook, Stephanie Bolt, Adelaide Airport Limited, Prima Photographics.

CAMERA GEAR PROVIDED BY
Prima Photographics

Hope you enjoy just a few of the images I have shot below.

If you would like to join me in a shoot let me know!

The Politicians make the rules. The Judges enforce those rules. The Lawyers profit from those laws. The schools teach the younger generations that to get by in this life all they need do is call on those rules.

The pathetic and useless morons who sue because they are so damn fucking stupid to realise that a cup of coffee is hot, help those politicians make those rules, help those judges enforce those rules, help those lawyers profit from those rules and give justification to the schools that teach the students to shun responsibility because that’s what those rules tell them they can do.

When this all comes to a head, when the shit finally goes down, when the next generation of teenagers don’t work because they can’t be bothered, don’t commit because they don’t have to and don’t take responsibility for their actions because they know that the politicians, judges, lawyers and education system tells them they don’t have to, what do you think will happen?

I’ll tell you.

The Politicians will enjoy their multi-million dollar retirement packages, free travel and free cars. The judges will close their doors and hide away in their mansions sitting atop crayfish tables strewn with caviar excuses, the lawyers will stick their middle fingers up at you as they speed away in their BMW’s with suitcases overstuffed with years of dirty money and the education system will still scream hard done by while they shrug their shoulders and drink brandy at school reunions.

Who will be left to scrape up the shit that is the world? YOU WILL BE. But of course, you won’t have to if you can’t be bothered…

Image source; http://www.kwkt.com/regional/toxic-cloud-forces-thousands-southeast-texas-stay-indoors