Finding Substance

Today I will talk about the reasons why I chose to write the fifth story in Aberrant Selected, simply entitled, Help. This story tells the story of a young homeless man who discovers a newborn babe wrapped in a blanket, in a park. The setting of this story, a small park in Redfern, inner city Sydney, is where I spent a miserable, cold night trying to sleep during a wilfully chosen five year stint of homelessness. I tried to sleep under some bushes, on the ground covered with wood chips, and only had a thin piece of cardboard to lie on. That night has remained in my mind ever since because while I was trying to sleep, trying to obliterate my destitution temporarily, I was also looking around at the nearby houses, well lighted, and looking so obviously warm on that cold winter night. I eventually chose to set a story under those bushes in that park to tame that demon, to reinforce the fact that I am now in a much better place and will never again choose such dereliction. In fact much of my writing is done to exorcise various demons that I encountered in my five years of homelessness in the inner cities of Sydney and Melbourne.
     Another reason I chose to write this story is because of why the main character, Joshua Andrew Devine, discovers the abandoned infant. Joshua espies the wrapped infant and approaches it hoping that it is a bundle of money. When I was homeless I too was often on the lookout for money that had been discarded. Certainly this expectation was irrational but during my five years of homelessness I was largely irrational and a full blown schizophrenic. I never found any money.
     I didn't end up sleeping that night in the Redfern park, it was simply too cold on that winter's night. But I remained lying down, looking forward to the sun's rising. I only ever stayed there the one night but I have been back to the spot a couple of times to compare and contrast my life then with my wonderful life now. There still was never any money there, discarded or hidden under the bushes. As one would expect.

The Real Life Marlena Geiger

Today I will skip talking about the third story in Aberrant, because it is somewhat traumatic to talk about, and tell you about the events that led to the creation of the fourth story, So Intimately Entwined. This story I wrote so I could use the name Melina, although in the story I spelled it Marlena. The character of Marlena, Marlena Geiger, is very loosely based upon Melina Marchetta, a famous Australian author I went to uni with, at Australian Catholic University. We were two of the inaugural editors on the student newspaper, Chalkdust, and I was present when she informed her newspaper colleagues that she had been offered a publishing contract for her first book, Looking for Alibrandi. This novel has since gone on to receive many awards and Melina is now a very successful author and teacher.
     I decided to use Melina's name for a character because I always found it fascinating being so close to my life goal (to be a published author), yet so far. Of course, I have been published since leaving uni, although not to the same level of fame as Melina. Mind you, as I said last week, I have indeed experienced fame and it was not at all what I thought it would be. These days I consider myself successful because I am in a position to do what I want, when I want, and how I want to. I have plenty of money and choose to spend most of my copious free time in reading nineteenth century fiction. In fact, I am in the position of being paid to read whatever I want, which I choose over being paid to write whatever I want.
     I lost contact with Melina after uni, which doesn't surprise me since I only saw her when we were working on the paper. I am greatly chuffed that she has become so famous, as well as a well respected writer. Melina, whilst at uni, was also respected by her lecturers because she achieved high marks whilst also being a busy editor on the student newspaper. We have both gone on to great things.
   

Indebted to a Sick Frog

     This week I will tell you about the second story in Aberrant Selected, entitled A Very Quiet Guest. This particular story is very important in my ouevre as it is the story that began my writing again after a break of about three years. I took a break because I had briefly experienced fame as a writer and I absolutely loathed the experience; I was made to feel like the object of my destiny rather than the subject. Basically, one day in Newtown, a bohemian suburb of inner city Sydney, I was selling self published booklets from an impromptu stall. I had been successfully selling these stories to passers-by in Newtown for a few months and had consequently been very favourably reviewed by The Sydney Morning Herald for them, both for the literary merit of the stories, as well as my unique selling method. This article resulted in my brief, loathsome, experience with fame. It was so horrible that I was simply too traumatised to write, for around three years.
     A frog however got me back to my writing. This frog, large, and green, I noticed one morning when I was heading up to my local supermarket to buy the milk for my morning coffee. I initially thought it was a large maple leaf, but since there were no maple trees in the grounds of my block of flats I thought I must have been hallucinating. Returning home, though, the 'maple leaf' was still there, and a closer inspection showed it to be a large, green frog.
     My neighbour, about thirty minutes later, also noticed this frog and after a brief discussion and inspection of the amphibian we surmised that the frog, whom I named Frederick Hibernia Wilder, was a bit depressed, and had sought out our block of flats as a retreat. Over about the next week or two my neighbour and I looked after the frog, setting him up with a little home, and always keeping fresh water and a water soaked towel within his/her easy reach. I introduced Frederick to another friend, who easily picked him up and gave him a few pats. Frederick must have been really depressed to thus let himself be so handled.
     And then one day, around two weeks after Frederick had taken up residence, he disappeared. He hasn't been back since. Whether he simply moved on, recovered from his depression, or fell victim to a predator, I have not the foggiest notion.
     I was naturally very taken with Frederick's situation and very soon after he left us I wrote about him. Writing this story reinvigorated my joy in writing, allowing me to recover from the trauma of my brush with fame. I have written fairly constantly and regularly since completing this story and I still thank Frederick for his help. I sometimes still think about him and hope he's okay, the parent of many, many healthy tadpoles. I owe him a lot.

In the Wings

G'day, everyone! I'm back. Soon after my last entry here I got the writing bug, desperately, and insatiably. But it did indeed become satiated, myself now having around two thirds of my 2019 book ready for submission, a collection of short stories. But let's get back to the current collection in hand, Aberrant Selected.
     I thought we'd spend a while, quite a long while, in each week looking at a particular story from Aberrant from the wings, seeing the machinations that led to its publication. We'll start off, of course, at the beginning, My Dear Psychiatrist.
     This story was basically created as the result of one of the many idle notes in my literary notebook, which I always have on me, as well as a pen, a pencil, and an eraser. The note was discovered by my youngest brother, Chris, who was staying with me for a little while. When he discovered it, he laughed uproariously.
     'What is it,' I asked him. 'What's so funny?' I was very excited that he had discovered such a funny note, hinting at great potential.
     'This note,' he replied. '"I think my psychiatrist is crazy."' From there we learn of one of my former psychiatrists, who appeared to me as ill at ease in his profession.
     The story was originally published in my first book, Bearing All Gods and Goddesses, but in a shorter form, and under the title, My Psychiatrist. Whenever I change a story, no matter how little, the new story always gets a new title. In the title under discussion, the addition of Dear is also meant to allude to Deer, reflecting the good psychiatrist's fundamentally innocent nature. But this allusion isn't pushed.
     I have also shown this story to a few psychiatrists and they've always thought it was hilarious. Even the subject himself laughed throughout its reading, which I asked him to do to gain his approval for its publication. It is such a funny story that I am certain that you shall enjoy it too.