Let’s rewind back to 2011, maybe 2012.
When a very young D.J.J. Watson — long before he became the Overlord and Saviour of our much-loved cult — was still just a clueless student.
I was attending university, taking an accountancy degree, mostly because I’d reached the end of my time in sixth form (college for my North American friends), and I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life.
Not a Scooby-Doo.
So, naturally, I kicked the question down the road and picked a “respectable” programme that would buy me a couple of years until I figured out the answer (which never came, by the way).
But the real perk of university wasn’t the course, nor the Subway vouchers.
It was the parties. The social scene.
You make friends, you go out, you drink too much, only to repeat it all the next weekend.
One night, we did just that.
Only, it didn’t end so well for two of us.
We headed to a club in a rather rough part of London called New Cross. The place was called Venue at the time — not sure if it’s still knocking around — but it was one of those spots people hit often. Cheap drinks, open until 4 or 5 in the morning, and multiple floors with each blaring different genres of music.
Oh, and the occasional fight.
How silly of me to almost forget, considering this is where the story unravels.
So sure enough, one night, right there on the dance floor, two lads went at it and before I could taste what I was sipping, my mate and I — filled with liquid courage and a thirst to get our jig back on to Nelly Furtado — stepped in to break it up.
We weren’t alone, either.
Quite a few fellows also chipped in to separate the two, and we succeeded.
The lads dispersed into the throng and all was well again, or so I thought.
Fast forward no more than five minutes, my mate and I went for a leak (I know, male bonding at its finest) when two heavies tapped us on the shoulder.
And by heavies, I mean 6’5”, 260-pound, Eastern European bouncers.
Big chaps who I suspect were no strangers to second servings.
Anyway, they ordered us to zip up and follow them, not that we had a lot of choice. We were marched out through a fire escape and down a flight of dimly-lit stairs when we quickly realised we were either going to feature in a Hostel sequel or be ejected.
In any case, we protested our innocence, pointing out we were the ones who stopped the fight, not initiated it.
They weren’t having any of it.
The moment my pal opened his mouth, WHACK!
A massive blow snapped his head to the side, nearly knocking him off his feet.
Naturally, I spoke up: “What the hell are you—”
WALLOP!
I caught one myself.
The punch was so hard that my phone flew out of my pocket — I’m still working out the physics on that — and a deafening ring stayed in my ears for a solid hour afterwards.
Needless to say, I managed to grab my BlackBerry (remember those?) and we were booted out the back door.
We stumbled outside, dazed, frazzled, still buzzing from the blows (and the booze), when we spotted two police officers at the front.
Relieved, we waved them down and explained what had happened.
Their response?
“How much have you had to drink tonight?”
That was it.
No interest. No help. Just a shrug. If we had an issue, they told us, we could file a report, which we never did, as the police were just as useless then as they are now. The only time they’ll take you seriously is if you’ve got two knives sticking out of you, with one ideally wedged in your jugular.
Anyway, want to know the funniest thing about that night?
The lads who actually fought each other were still drinking and dancing away inside, blissfully unaware their saviours had been brutally ejected from the club.
Mistaken identity at its finest.
What does this have to do with my fictional wares? Honestly? Not a clue. Except maybe this:
Shite happens.
Sometimes you do the right thing, and you’re the one who gets clobbered. Sometimes you do nothing at all, and still, bad situations find you.
That theme runs deep in my writing and especially in The Divided Region.
In fact, the very first chapter of Exiled starts with the cruellest kind of injustice: a betrayal by someone the protagonist (Darius) should have been able to trust with his life. It not only turns his world upside down, but it also sets him on the path that fuels the series, which stands at five books so far.
So, if you’ve ever tasted the bitter sting of injustice yourself, you might just relate to Darius and his plight.
But I’ll let the book do the talking.
You can find Exiled in audiobook and a digitally signed ebook here:
https://djjwatsonstore.com/products/Exiled
Prefer to buy elsewhere? No problem.
You can also grab the ebook at all the major retailers here:
https://books2read.com/dividedregionexiled
DJJW