As I’ve said before, I’m not a huge fan of sharing my fiction. Still, every now and again I let one out of the cage. So, here’s a story that was chosen for inclusion in one of Stringybark Stories’ books a few years back. Enjoy!
(You can visit http://www.stringybarkstories.net for more info on Stringybark Stories).
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I’m guessing that most people who are used to warmer climates would assume that Austrian winter is brutal. And it is in many ways. I mean, not Iceland brutal, but still brutal.
I’m not going to lie. I hate winter here. I hate it with a passion. I’ve written many blog posts on that very topic. Like this one. And this one.
But in many ways, growing up in Melbourne winter was also not fun. Because yes, it’s cold. And when I say that to people here… well… they do not believe me at all. In fact, they think I am being ridiculous. They scoff at me, as if to say… what would you know? They ask, well, what is a cold winter’s day. And I say… well I guess we’re looking at 10 or 12 (and I’m cringing internally as I say it because I know what’s coming). And then there’s more scoffing. More ridiculing. Because in Austria they would dream of such glorious winter temperatures.
But the cold hits different in Melbourne compared to Austria. And here’s why:
The wind
The ice-cold arctic wind. Actually direct from Antarctica. Sure, temps might be up to ten during the day, but the wind chill can be soul destroying (once again, not Iceland soul destroying).
We don’t dress for it
In Melbourne I had a coat or two. And I’d rarely get them out. Because… why? Unless you’re going skiing or have to commute on public transport you’re not going out in the weather for too long. And you’ll grin and bear it if you do! I never had winter-specific exercise clothes. I never had more than one wardrobe. Whereas in Austria, I have at least 10 different coats of varying lengths and thicknesses and a stash of beanies and mittens I use on a regular basis. I have exercise clothes fit for winter, and so essentially I have an entire extra wardrobe of clothes to call upon when it’s cold. So sure, it is definitely colder in Austria, but if you dress for it, it doesn’t feel so bad.
Melbourne houses are not built for Winter
As I sit in my Austrian house with its thick, concrete walls, I think fondly of those quaint wooden houses in Melbourne, where the temperature inside is basically the same as it is outside. Insulation was minimal. Heating was not a guarantee. Sure, things have improved somewhat since I was growing up, but I remember wearing a beanie to bed. I remember breathing smoke out of my mouth in bed. I remember sneaking the little electric heater into my bedroom and getting in trouble cause… fire hazard. We, and many others I remember, had a single gas heater in the living room of the house – that room was barricaded shut, and the rest of the house was an igloo. Hence… wearing a beanie to bed on occasion.
Meanwhile in Austria…
I’m regularly wearing t-shirts inside during winter. Why? Cause the heating is turned up so high it’s barely necessary to wear a jumper. Of course, you have to wear a thick jacket over your clothes to get from the car to the shopping centre, but once you’re there you can simply put your coat in a locker, and go about your day as if it’s not -2 outside!
So while I do understand that it is colder in Austria, and I understand that houses here definitely do need to be heated, I just want to say that I’ve never sat on a toilet seat as cold as some of the ones in deep Melbourne winter. And I’ll stand by that!
When I was studying professional writing back in my younger days, I enrolled in an incredibly fun subject called ‘Children’s Writing’. Naturally, one of the major assignments was to produce a children’s book. As in… write one and put it in a book format, including illustrations… just like I used to do when I was 8 writing my Lucky Series.
Now, you think that writing a kid’s book is simple. And it kind of is… but it’s also kind of not. I remember spending a lot of time thinking… and not coming up with much.
And then one day I was on a bus trip from Melbourne to Sydney for band camp, and in the space of 10 minutes, I scrawled the story of Henry has Hiccups out on a piece of paper.
That became my assignment.
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In this blog I want to take you back some years. I’m going to take a stab and say we’re talking somewhere between 1987 and 1990. Back then life was pretty sweet for little Debbie. Between playing with friends, dancing, school and reading books, things were A-OK. That’s about the time I started dabbling in writing my own… books, I mean.
And what would become my most famous series (also the only one)? The Lucky Series. It all began with Lucky’s Adventure. What’s it about? Well, I’m glad you asked. It’s about a dog – a beagle-cum-labrador type – who goes on an adventure and is rewarded with… the classic kid’s wish… never-ending wishes.
Continue readingI’m not a huge fan of sharing my fiction. I guess I’m worried someone will tell me my writing is no good. Still, every now and again I let one out of the cage. So, here’s a story that was included in one of Stringybark Stories’ many published books. The theme was that it had to have a twist. Enjoy!
(You can visit http://www.stringybarkstories.net for more info on Stringybark Stories).
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When I was a teenager, I didn’t just go through a dirty poetry phase, I also went through a standard poetry phase. Though this one lasted a bit longer, since it seems I was writing bad poetry up until my early 20s.
The reason I know this is because when I went through some old stuff at my parents last year I came across my poetry book. This, of course, is an A4 book filled with all my best poetry written out nicely. It even has a print out of a Dylan Thomas poem on the front. Because I have like… intellect.
I guess it was a way of expressing myself during the tumultuous teenage years, privately of course, because most of these I never shared. Most of it is amusing, much of it brings back bittersweet memories of a time I’d almost forgotten, and then there’s that tiny percentage that actually carry something more intense. Because every now and again, reading certain parts would expose a surge of leftover pain that still actually stings, in a distant far off kind of way that is the past.
So what better thing to do with this tragic writing I discovered than share some excerpts so you can enjoy the main themes of my teenage life:
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When I was in year 9, at the tender age of 14/15, I was big into writing, and at the time, I was deep in my horror writing phase. An old friend from high school recently found a story of mine that had been printed in the yearbook, and I found it so disturbing/funny that I thought I’d share.
It was titled ‘I’ll be back’, which is relevant considering where I live now. And it revolved around a 14/15 year old girl babysitting her two year old sister for the first time. This girl was doing all the standard teenage things you do when you’re babysitting – like calling her friends and watching TV… absolutely not checking on the baby and of course… meditating… for an hour. Which perhaps was the problem… because in that hour someone came into the house and surprise surprise… murdered her baby sister.
Continue readingI have loved writing for as long as I can remember. One of my earliest memories, perhaps also of jealousy, was when a girl in my prep class brought in a ‘book’ she’d written. It was about her dog, flimsy paper stapled together complete with 5 year old drawings. It was impressive for a 5 year old, or at least I thought so. I remember the teacher raving about it. I remember being jealous. And I remember wanting to have my own book. I remember thinking I could do that.
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As an early teen, I went through a very special phase… writing dirty poems. I don’t know why… I guess that’s just how things manifested when I got curious about things like boys and sex. Now, maybe some 13/14 year olds know a lot about sex… but I certainly was not one of them. My dirty poetry was written with next to no knowledge on the topic, other than what I’d read or seen on television – which was not a large pool to draw from.
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This is a post to my loyal readers. Or my occasional readers. Or anyone that just happens upon my blog at some point. Thank you for checking it out. Thank you for being on this journey with me.
I started this blog for myself. To keep myself occupied while I was unemployed in my first year in Austria. To force myself to write every week. And to keep my mum updated on what I was up to. As a writer I’d always wanted to start a blog, because when I become rich and famous it will be worth a mint, right? I think there’s a lot of ego here… a presumption that I believe my thoughts matter and that people out there, complete strangers many of them, will want to hear what I have to say.
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an aussie in austria 