The Power of Words: Reflecting on the Overuse of "Nazi"

 G’day, fellow Adventurers,

Today, I want to dive into a topic that's been on my mind lately: the ubiquitous use of the word "Nazi." As a writer who delves into historical fiction and contemporary commentary, I can't help but notice how this once weighty term has found its way into everyday conversations, sometimes where it perhaps doesn't belong.

Let's rewind a bit. "Nazi" originally referred to members of the National Socialist German Workers' Party under Adolf Hitler's regime. It's a term that evokes images of tyranny, genocide, and unspeakable horrors that scarred our world in the 20th century. It's a word that should make us pause, remember, and reflect on the darkest chapters of human history.

Yet, in today's discourse, "Nazi" often gets tossed around casually, applied to anyone with strict beliefs or perceived authoritarian tendencies. For example, the well-written and hilarious Seinfeld episode, "The Soup Nazi".  We hear it in political debates, social media squabbles, and even in entertainment critiques. It's as if the word has become a catch-all phrase for any form of extremism or intolerance.

This casual use worries me. When we dilute the power of "Nazi" by using it loosely, we risk diminishing its historical weight and significance. It's like watering down a potent truth serum until it loses its efficacy. By calling someone a "Nazi" without understanding the historical context or the gravity of what it truly means, we risk trivialising the atrocities committed under the Nazi regime.

Of course, language evolves, and words can change meaning over time. But when it comes to terms as charged as "Nazi," we must tread carefully. There's a danger in blurring the lines between legitimate criticism, hyperbole, and historical fact. It's not about political correctness or censorship; it's about preserving the integrity of our history and ensuring that future generations understand the true lessons of the past.

Although meant for entertainment purposes, my latest work "The Titanic Connection" touches upon that note. When we call someone a "Grammar Nazi", a "Driving Nazi", or any other kind, we run the risk of weakening the word's true, horrific meaning. I've seen firsthand how powerful words can be in shaping narratives and perceptions. That's why I urge us all to use words like "Nazi" with respect and caution, remembering their weight and the lessons they carry.

As we navigate through a world where words are wielded like weapons, let's remember the responsibility we have as writers, historians, and citizens. Let's honour the memory of those who suffered under, and fought, Nazi oppression by using language that educates, enlightens, and respects the truth.

Until next time, keep reading, keep learning, and keep reflecting.

Confronting History: The Importance of Preserving Controversial Literature

Have you ever watched a film or read a book that left you questioning the depths of human nature and the lessons of history?

I was eleven when I first saw Logan's Run. Believe it or not, the teachers at my high school thought it was a good movie to show students towards the end of the year. Little did I know, it would spark a lifelong reflection on the importance of preserving history through literature.

 

In case you haven't seen it, the film (and novel) is set in the 24th century, where people live in underground cities and enjoy pleasurable lives—until they turn thirty. At that point, they are killed, believing they will be reincarnated into an even better life. It's a way to control the population and maybe even stem overpopulation. Some people, knowing the truth, escaped death and were known as Runners. The computer controlling the cities would send agents called Sandmen to capture these Runners. The most horrific part was learning that some Runners were killed and used as food for the unsuspecting population.

There are films we watch, horrified by the setting. For me, Logan's Run was one of those films. The Chrysalids by John Wyndham was another. It's set in a dystopian, post-apocalyptic future where radiation from a nuclear war caused mutations and birth defects. Anyone not born "normal" was cast out or killed. That included cattle, dogs, and even babies with six toes. They were considered abominations because they weren't born in the image "God decided."

These dystopian tales, while fictional, serve as powerful allegories for real historical events. They remind us of the horrors of totalitarian regimes, eugenics, and the dangers of losing our humanity.

Today, there are different sorts of horrors in literature. Imagine a novel set in the past where black people are enslaved, treated as subhumans, stripped of their rights. Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, for example. Even Little House On The Prairie reflects those times. People then were different from how they are now, using terms like "Negro" or worse.

Some people today advocate changing these works, claiming they incite hatred. I believe that reason is misguided.

I loved Tom Sawyer as a kid, as well as Huckleberry Finn and Little House On The Prairie. I don't hate black people, nor do I hate any other races. I dare say the same for others who read those books. I believe people are horrified by the historical treatment and try to deny it by censoring under the guise of "removing offense."

By censoring these works, we risk erasing the very lessons they teach us. These books provide a window into the past, showing us how far we've come and how much further we need to go. They spark important conversations about racism, equality, and human rights—conversations that are crucial for progress.

Censorship, in this context, does more harm than good. It shields us from the uncomfortable truths of our history, preventing us from learning and growing. Instead of hiding from the past, we should confront it, understand it, and ensure that its mistakes are not repeated.

Consider Mein Kampf by Adolf Hitler. It's a deeply disturbing book filled with hate and propaganda. Yet, it remains an important historical document. By studying it, we learn about the dangerous ideology that led to one of the darkest periods in history—the Holocaust. Censoring such works might seem like a way to prevent the spread of harmful ideas, but it also risks forgetting the lessons learned from the consequences of those ideas. History must be remembered, no matter how uncomfortable, so that we can recognize the signs and prevent such horrors from happening again.

The world has changed so much, but there's still much to learn. Let's not hide from history; let's learn from it.

What are your thoughts on this? Should we censor historical literature to avoid offending modern sensibilities, or should we preserve these works to learn from our past? Let’s discuss in the comments below.

The Devil Behind Social Media

 Today, I decided. If I don't leave Facebook (and other social media) then I'll be cutting it out a lot. I have to do it.

Step one: Check through all the friends and followers on my personal profile.

There have been some 5000+ there since I first started in 2007. And the discovery itself was horrifying.

Facebook has this thing where it won't let you see your friends' posts, unless you talk to them all the time. Then they will distract and grab your attention, flooding your senses with all sorts of utter bullshit and crap. Useless plastic crap.

Well, I got caught. Too long. And the fallout of that caught my attention when I went into my friends and followers lists.

It was great, looking through it, checking on faces I'd never seen in ages. Then I came across one I'd not spoken to in a long time.

Excitedly, I clicked on the profile to check the feed. Hmmm not too many posts there. Just messages from friends on the wall to wish a happy birthday. Then I saw it.

A birthday message.

"Happy birthday to you, wherever you are and whatever you're doing."

"Happy birthday. I'll have a beer for you and hope you're enjoying one up there too."

"Happy Heavenly Birthday. It's been two years, and we still miss you."

Shit!

A friend had died, and I didn't know about it. It wasn't the first either since I discovered a few months ago my best schoolfriend's mother had passed away too. That cut deep. Today's cut deeper, not because that friend had been any closer, but because I realised -- one day that could be me.

All of these people I *love* entertaining with my Dad Joke posts. I'd just disappear, and they wouldn't even notice. A forgotten blip on the radar.

Can you imagine the same happening to you?

I continued through the list. There was another old face. Damn! She had died too. And another, and the list continued. There have been two dozen people who died, and I hadn't noticed. Partly my fault, but also influenced by a pathetic algorithm fostered by a weedy "entrepreneurial" creature who owns the social media company. How do others feel when they go checking up on friends they have missed over the months?

Obviously, it's not Facebook's fault that my friends had died. Not entirely their fault I hadn't heard... but I do blame them for their insatiable greed behind their algorithm that treats its users the way a sociopathic kid tortures small animals. It is despicable.

I'm not naive to the fact that it's only free to users to "be the product" for businesses who pay Facebook (and other social media) for advertising. It's how they remain "free to use". But we all know, there's no such thing as free in the world. It's all an illusion.

So that's another reason added to the growing list of reasons for my deepening dislike and distrust for social media.

At least the newspaper, radio, or televison tells us when people pass.

But not the heartless money-grubbing bastards like Zuckerberg. One day, he will pass too. You can bet we'll all hear about that!

 

Ask Me Anything - 13th December 2023

Hey, everyone! Thanks for coming to chat with me!

I'm Chris Johnson, and I'm super excited to be here answering your questions today! I write novels and novellas in speculative fiction -- especially adventure laced with light science fiction and/or supernatural themes! My books range from weird fiction (like what you might find in Twilight Zone, Amazing Stories, etc), tales of psychic detectives and time travellers who end up in a big heap of trouble.  In fact, the latest release is The Paradox of Buck Nowlan, the second in the ChronoSpace series -- it was great fun to write. The third is on its way.

I love adventure and action movies, especially the kind by Stephen Spielberg in the 1980s, and a host of other weird and wonderful things. And I'm often prone to telling some terrible Dad jokes to prove my quirkiness.

I'm Australian, born and bred, and live in Brisbane, Queensland near a brilliant lake around which I often walk. Besides writing, I'm also a mentalist and magician; that explains the Dad jokes.

You can find my books at larrikinbooks.com, and pretty soon there'll be more of me on YouTube when I find the time for it. Every month, I send out a newsletter or two (or three) to my subscribers by email, keeping them up with special deals on my writing... even competitions.

You can find me on social media at Facebook and BookBub.

 

Grantley's Last Laugh -- a little light Halloween reading for you

[Scene: A dimly lit room adorned with antique furniture. Bela Lugosi, the legendary actor known for his portrayal of Count Dracula, sits in an elegant armchair, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit. Across from him is Chris Johnson, the author of "Grantley's Last Laugh," a gothic horror short story.]

Bela Lugosi: Good eeevening, ladies and gentlemen. Tonigh', I 'ave ze pleasure of speaking with the talented author behind "Grantley's Last Laugh," Mr. Chris Johnson. Greetings, Mr. Johnson!

Chris Johnson: G'day, Drac. It's an honor to be here with you.

Bela Lugosi: Let's delve into the vorld you've created in your gothic 'orror tale. Ze enigmatic Benjamin Grantley and ze dark secrets of Grantley Manor seem to be at ze centre of ze story. Can you tell us vat inspired you to write about zis eerie settin'?

Chris Johnson: Well, mate, Grantley Manor is a right eerie place, and I've always been drawn to gothic tales and mysterious old houses. The idea of hidden secrets and a touch of supernatural always gets my imagination runnin'. So, I wanted to bring that atmospheric terror and blurring of reality into "Grantley's Last Laugh."

Bela Lugosi: Ze supernatural elements you've introduced, like ze flickerin' candles, eruptin' flames, and ze malevolent unseen force, create an atmosphere of dread. 'Ow did you go about craftin' zese eerie occurrences?

Chris Johnson: Oh, you see, I wanted to give readers a real sense of unease and make them question what's real and what's not. So, with vivid descriptions and subtle hints, I aimed to create an atmosphere where everyday things take on a spine-chilling twist. It's all about the power of suggestion, mate, to make you feel unsettled and on the edge of your seat.

Bela Lugosi: Your description of the blurred lines between ze tangible and ze supernatural certainly adds to ze intrigue. Vat message or emotions do you 'ope readers will take avay from "Grantley's Last Laugh"?

Chris Johnson: Well, mate, above all, I hope readers get completely captivated by the story's dark allure. I want them to feel that eerie shiver down their spines and let their imagination run wild. And through the story, I also wanted to explore the ideas of hidden secrets, the fragility of reality, and the power of the unknown. So, I reckon readers might find themselves reflecting on their own perceptions and the depths of the human psyche.

Bela Lugosi: "Grantley's Last Laugh" sounds like a mesmerising gothic horror that will leave readers on the edge of their zeats. Before we conclude, what final message would you like to share vith your readers?

Chris Johnson: Well, mate, I just want to say a big thank you to all the readers who take the plunge into the unknown with me. "Grantley's Last Laugh" is a journey into atmospheric terror, a place where imagination and fear collide. So, embrace the darkness, surrender to the narrative, and let the story keep you up at night long after you turn the final page.

Bela Lugosi: Thank you, Mr. Johnson, for giving us a glimpse into the captivating vorld of "Grantley's Last Laugh." It has been a pleasure speakink vith you.

Chris Johnson: The pleasure's all mine, Mr. Lugosi. Thanks for havin' me here.

[As the interview concludes, the room is enveloped once again in an eerie silence. The haunting tale awaits those who dare to turn its pages. Bela Lugosi's chilling laughter crackles through the darkness.]

 

Enchanting Encounters: My Magical Halloween in Western Australia

Halloween.

The word itself conjures up images full of witches cackling over bubbling cauldrons as they incant their spells, throwing odd ingredients into the mix. Pumpkins carved into jagged glowing mouths and eyes spring to mind, as do troops of children dressed in sheets, robes, and an assortment of other apparel to be their favourite scary creature or hero.

Having grown up in Australia in the 1970s and 1980s, I never experienced any of this. Halloween was regarded as “something those Yanks do in America, not here”, which is a misnomer, of course.

Halloween, originally known as 'Samhain,' marked the end of the harvest season in Celtic lands like Ireland and parts of Britain. The Celts believed that on October 31st, the boundary between the living and the dead blurred, giving rise to bonfires, feasts, and costumes made from animal heads and skins. Over time, it evolved into the Halloween we know today, with influences from various cultures.

As Christianity spread across Europe, the Catholic Church sought to Christianise existing pagan celebrations. In the 7th century, Pope Boniface IV established All Saints' Day (also known as All Hallows' Day) on November 1st to honour saints and martyrs. The evening before, known as All Hallows' Eve, eventually became Halloween.

Eventually, it was introduced through migration to America where it flourished to such a level, it’s any wonder people think it’s “something the Americans cooked up”.

Back to Australia now, I remember mention of it in 1978 when my second grade teacher, Mrs Childs, who came from the USA, showed us all how to make a Jack O Lantern. We might have dressed up in fancy-dress costumes for a school dance for the occasion too, but that was the only time at school. It never caught on because it was “an American thing”.

Fast-forward to 1999, when I was living in Perth. On the 31st October, I was caught off-guard by the knock-knock on the door by Trick-or-Treaters. Although I had no lollies for the kids, I was working as a magician – so I “treated” them with my “tricks”. We soon had the same kids coming back with their friends, and I found myself doing an impromptu show for many others throughout the night.

A year later, I did the same thing just a little differently. You see, I had a lot of work as a walk-around wizard in corporate and private functions throughout the year. Perth was great for that. So on Halloween of 2000, I decided to join the other trick-or-treaters in character. Dressed in my black cloak, armed with my knowledge of sleight-of-hand and a bunch of business cards, I joined the costumed zombies, ghouls, ghosts, and a Pokémon on the streets, moving house to house.

Chris Johnson as "The Seer"

At each house, silver balls blossomed into existence between my fingers before amazed eyes. People gasped when I produced coins from their noses and lit cigarettes from their pockets. It was an amazing night, bringing magic to people, sharing the wonder and a smile or two with each of them. Then something bigger happened.

Just as I was plucking a ribbon from someone’s fingertips, someone cried, “Hey! Look at the cats!”

I turned in time to see that my Siamese and Burmese cats sitting at my feet, watching in rapt attention. Apparently, they had been following me to each house, watching from the bushes or nearby. It proved the spectacle for the residents of three blocks to see the goth wizard and his familiars spreading magic and smiles on the night of magical happenings.

In the end, what began as a foreign tradition to me became a night of magic and connection. The streets of Seville Grove in Perth, Western Australia, adorned with ghosts and goblins, witnessed a wizard and his faithful feline companions spreading wonder and smiles. A night of shared enchantment, it proved to me that magic isn’t just found in spells and sleight-of-hand, but in the simple act of bringing joy to others wherever you are in the world.

 

Speaking of Tricks and Treats, check out one of my stories -- The Trick -- below.

 

Thunderstruck: Three Seductive Figures and a Night of Temptation

 A flash of lightning split the night sky, its jagged light igniting the pitch-black abyss with unsettling clarity. The boom of thunder that followed felt like someone had lobbed a bowling ball straight into my gut, dragging me from the depths of sleep. I shot upright, blinking against the sudden rush of reality—only, this didn’t feel like reality. Something was off.

My room, my bed, my life—all felt far away. Instead, I was surrounded by an icy darkness, every nerve in my body twitching like it knew something I didn’t. Then came the sound of rain, pelting down like a thousand tiny fists against what was definitely not my garden. A strong, metallic tang hung in the air, and for a moment, I half-expected an alien invasion.

Another crack of thunder lit up the space, and that’s when I saw them—three figures, moving with a grace so unnatural I wondered if I was still dreaming. If this was a dream, it was one hell of a vivid one. There they were, three women—no, more like temptresses, hovering between dangerous and... well, damn attractive. Each one was different, but together they moved in a hypnotic dance that had me hooked instantly.

“Well, this isn’t my usual wake-up call,” I muttered under my breath, trying to shake off the fog of sleep and something else I couldn’t quite name.

The first woman, Helga, stepped forward, her body language all regal authority with a splash of what you might call “don’t-mess-with-me” mixed in. “Chris Johnson,” she purred, her voice as smooth as velvet and twice as expensive, “what a pleasure it is to have you with us tonight. We’ve heard about your book, While He Was Sleeping. Quite the page-turner... much like the way you’ve turned our heads.” Her lips curled into a smile that promised danger, and her eyes—dark, sharp, and utterly unapologetic—glinted with mischief.

“Yeah?” I cleared my throat, trying to appear composed. “Glad to know my literary efforts have such... enthusiastic fans.”

Next up, Ingrid, the second in this trio of temptresses, stepped closer. She was more ethereal than Helga, like a ghost you didn’t know whether to run from or invite over for tea. Her voice was soft but firm, laced with that haunting quality that could pull confessions out of the hardest bloke. “Your character, Maerie... she’s quite the mystery, isn’t she?” Her fingers traced along my jaw, and I’ll admit it—a shiver ran down my spine. “We’d love to know... what inspired her? There’s something about her... something that feels like... us.”

“Maerie?” I blinked, trying to keep my wits about me. “She’s... complicated. A bit like you, I guess.” I chuckled, mostly to keep my head from spinning. “She’s got layers. Keeps everyone guessing, including herself sometimes.”

Ingrid’s lips twitched into a half-smile, the kind that said she already knew exactly what I was thinking—and I was probably in trouble. “Mmm... layers make things... delicious.”

I was about to quip about onions when the third woman, Rosa, strolled up. Now, Rosa had an energy to her—playful, almost teasing, like she could make you laugh while stealing your wallet. Or your heart. She smirked as her eyes—brilliant green, like a cat sizing up its prey—locked onto mine. “You know what I like, Chris?” she whispered, leaning in close enough that I could feel the heat of her breath on my skin. “A bloody… tasty… plot twist. Something that keeps you on the edge... keeps you wanting more.”

I laughed, nervous, yet oddly... intrigued? “Well, I’ve been known to write a few of those.”

“Good,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper that sent goosebumps racing down my arms. “Because we’re dying to know... how do Robin and Ella manage Maerie’s wrath in While He Was Sleeping? She’s tearing through those bullies like a nightmare brought to life. What happens when things get too personal? When fear gets... too close?”

I swallowed hard. “It’s, uh... well, it's less about resisting temptation and more about surviving. Robin and Ella aren’t just facing some inner battle—they’re up against Maerie, a tulpa, and she’s deadly. It’s not just what haunts them from the outside... it’s what Maerie is capable of, and what’s driving her to kill and turn on them.”

The room seemed to hum with electricity as the three of them closed in, the air thick with tension that danced somewhere between sultry and dangerous. Helga, now close enough that I could smell the faint scent of lavender—of all things—leaned forward, her lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You’ve been a good sport, Chris,” she purred, her voice like warm honey drizzling down my spine. “Now, we’d hate to leave you feeling... unsatisfied.”

“Well,” I said, feeling my pulse quicken, “I’d hate for that too.”

Ingrid chuckled, a sound that felt more intimate than it should, while Rosa winked at me, her smile practically glowing in the dim light. “Oh, we wouldn’t dream of it. But next time, bring more to the table, hmm? We love a captivating story... but we love a moral challenge even more.”

Before I could respond, the lights flickered, the storm outside cracking with another deafening boom. Suddenly, the three women were gone—vanished like a puff of smoke, leaving only the scent of lavender and the lingering warmth of their presence.

I lay back in bed, heart still hammering, trying to process what just happened. I ran a hand over my throat—half expecting to find a mark there—but felt nothing. Just the thrum of adrenaline coursing through my veins and a lingering sense of... guilt? Maybe. Excitement? Hell, yeah.

As the storm settled outside, I pulled the blankets up, muttering to myself, “What a night. Gotta remember to include this in my next book...”

And with that, I let sleep take me—although, given the evening’s events, I doubted it’d be anything close to peaceful. But at least it would be interesting.