Shouts From Down Under

Red John never made me this nervous. Must be the MSG...

Do you ever finish reading a novel, and only then realise you've been holding your breath? Remember? It really was that good.

What about a meal. You've pushed your plate away and feel more satisfied than a cat chewing a mouse with another one in each paw. (Sorry mice lovers, for that sordid picture, but still, the puss would feel pretty good, surely?)
You remember that meal forever. Even now, I still remember a restaurant meal called Garlic Prawns, prepared, served and with taste I've never had since. I often order them the first time I visit an eating spot, hoping against all hope that someone, somewhere, knows how to cook them and present them like that meal of 38 odd years ago.

They were divine. They were shrimp. Prawns. King Prawns. Boiled in some sort of oil, probably olive, mixed with salt and garlic, and served with heavenly garlic bread, in blistering hot black little cast iron cauldrons. I suppose many chefs cook them, and I just haven't "been around". Plus the fact that at the moment, the most I can manage to buy is a custard tart. Still, I enjoy every tart I've...no. No let's not keep on with that sentence.

I can still taste those garlic prawns. OK OFF THIS SUBJECT; my mouth's watering.

Wouldn't it be good, no, great if we could write stuff that people remembered for a long time. Stuff that people wished was their work, and fiddled around re-reading the piece many a time, searching for that secret of why you made them feel that way. Surely only writer's would think on this?

Well, I wasn't always fixated on writing. I was once just a normal old book reader. I just read the things, then cast them aside, or returned them, mostly late, to the local library, where I could browse the musty smelling aisles for more escapism. I don't know where I'd be today but for those doors of imagination, through which I rushed at every opportunity. I hated some parts of life then.
People were so confident! They were so "out there". They wanted to talk to you, and get answers. They wanted to enjoy something about you. They wanted your friendship.

I never understood that even the most toxic obnoxious bully, or the biggest tease, or the most intimidating, educated, street-wise kid, was really just trying to understand you, especially when all I ever did was try to escape. If I ever did say anything, it seemed to make things worse - provoke laughter, jeers of disagreement, or worse. My replies were probably comical, bigoted, naive, misinformed or just plain crap. Where I grew up, I could run away and hide in the scrub, away from people and their baffling ways.

My cousins were the only ones who seemed to understand any of this, and even their helpfulness and friendship was limited.

No, I was determined to remain shy, proud, introverted and impossibly unfathomable to most other kids.

Well, I digress here. The thing is, I wasn't a writer. I just used books as a means to get away from what I felt was a harsh and nightmarish reality. What a pity mood swings and bipolar behaviour wasn't recognised, and treated, back then.



There's a lesson in everyone's life, to be learned by all. We all have some sort of story that we've lived. We all have a record in our memories of reams of material, events, incidents, boring periods, family relationships and the lucky ones of us have something money can't buy.

The love of our cousins. (I'm being serious here too, for once)

Now, , with relatives like that, who wouldn't develop an eye and ear for what makes good your escape, and what isn't?
That's how I think people learn how to write in any measure. Because they've been desperate for 100% immersion into a fantasy world.
They know first hand when it happens, and when it fails. When it fails, they remain where they were. In the painful and frightening world of real life.

Anyway, my Red John Noodle dish awaits me. This is my speciality for this week. Turn green with jealousy. Even greener with envy. Cos you ain't getting any.



And I just remembered saying I was nervous, very nervous in the title of this blog entry. Why? Because tomorrow I have a job interview. Yep. That's it. Nothing more needs to be said.

Sparky

Featured as part of my signature, the video below is here to raise awareness of Carly, who thrives despite the difficulties of severe Autism. Watching and learning about her may change how we think of these people, and how we treat them.