Melbourne

M and C – the story continues

I’ve written before about my homeless friends M and C, How they got themselves into a house and how then they broke up and C went off somewhere. I saw M a lot going past in the train after that and then for a while I didn’t.
Suddenly he started getting on at my station. He told me he’d found C – she was at her mother’s in the country – but that he’d lost the house. He told me he’d been in jail for a few months. “I punched a guy who was fiddling with little kids,” he told me. “But I was good in jail and worked on a trade certificate. I’m a qualified plasterer.”
He’s quite a nice person -he always helps tourists with the ticket machines and timetables very kindly – but it’s also clear he’s got a short fuse and he does love his Wild Turkey and coke. He has a big scar across his head which implies maybe Acquired Brain Injury or is simply due to his epilepsy. For a couple of days he had work on a building site. Then he was back to begging. So one step forward two back.
Then a few days later I saw a familiar figure on the opposite platform. It was C. She waved at me. She looked good.
The next day M waved at me out of the train. “Great news. She’s back,” he shouted.
They stopped by the station a couple of days later. They seemed pretty happy. Though C seems a bit reserved. They had a wizened little old man in tow. C introduced him as her father. “He’s staying with us for a bit,” she said. Staying was a strange word to use. They were all off into the city to do some begging. If they didn’t make enough money for a room, well they had sleeping bags.
M and C make me aware of my own middle-classness – my assumptions about work, houses and stability. You can’t have a relative to stay with you unless you at least have a floor for them to sleep on, can you? They also make me realize you don’t have to travel to experience other ways of life. They are here in Melbourne, right under your nose.

Jason Franks, Writer and Comic Book Author

 

Sixsmiths2_cover_880Melbourne writer Jason Franks likes to walk on the dark side . His first novel Bloody Waters, about Clarice Marnier, a young guitar virtuoso who sells her soul to the devil, was short listed for the 2012 Aurealis award.  His McBlack comic series stars a private detective gone bad. But today we’ll be focusing on the Sixsmiths as Franks is about to launch his second comic in the series.  

Tell us about The Sixsmiths

The Sixsmiths are a family of suburban Satanists fallen prey to the global financial crisis. Sort of.

Well, they’re not like modern, Anton Laveyan Satanists (who are often really atheists and/or religious freedom japesters). In this world Satanism is a longstanding religion with a history that’s entwined with the other monotheistic faiths (Judaism, Christianity, Islam) with a long history of persecution. The conceit is that they’re just ordinary folks, and their religion could stand in for any one of those religions at different times. Satanism gives us the ability to invert everything and that is a great source of jokes.

The Sixsmiths do practice magic as part of their religion, but there’s no supernatural aspect to the book–it’s a straight-up religious satire.

One thing we really wanted to avoid was becoming a ripoff of the Addams Family, which is to my mind a wholly perfect creation. So instead we decided to rip off the Simpsons and South Park.

What initially inspired you to write about them?
Marc asked me to write a graphic novel for him to draw with the intention of selling it to Slave Labor Graphics, who had published Marc’s two prior books. He came down to Melbourne for a book launch and afterwards we sat down in a cafe to brainstorm over coffee. One of the sketches he did in that session was a depressed-looking teenage boy wearing a pentagram t-shirt–that’s where the original idea came from. That became Cain. Next was the vicar, Melmoth. Ralf was based on a punter sitting at the other end of the cafe and for Lilith, I said “black hair with a white streak.” Annie was more difficult and Marc came up with her on his own. Once we had characters and the setup (“suburban Satanists”) we were most of the way there, we just needed a plot. The subprime crisis in the USA was just rumbling then so I said ‘money problems’. Neither of us guessed that we’d be in GFC by the time the book was ready.

The Sixsmith’s church picnic reminded me of church picnics I went to as a child.  Made me wonder if you’d gone to picnics with religious organizations too.

cover_vol01 sixsmithThere are two picnics, sort of, so I’ll tell you about both of them. The blessing after the mass in Unhallowed is inspired by the Jewish custom of having a ‘kiddush’ (blessing) after the Saturday morning service. It’s often sponsored by a family, especially if their son has had his Bar Mitzvah during the service on that particular day. These usually take place indoors but I put it outside because a) I wanted a Churchier feel, and b) because that made it easier for Dennis to gatecrash.

The other picnic–the Festival of Mammon–is based on the annual Chanukah in the Park. I provided Marc with photos of the St Kilda Festival for reference, though, which is why it doesn’t look like Caufield park. We made up the ceremony for maximum silliness.

What else are you working on at the moment?

A bunch of stuff. One of them is a comic called Gourmand Go, which is basically Cannibal Star Trek. I’m finishing off a novel called XDA Zai, which is about an assassin who takes missions in impossible places (fairy land, Atlantis, a dirigible city, etc etc)–but who’s really in it for the travel opportunities. Also a new urban fantasy novel, a sequel, and some other continuing work. My new novel, Shadowmancy, is all done and should be available real soon now.

How do you start out with your stories? In the middle, beginning or end?
Depends. Usually I know the end before I start, and then I figure out the start and just strike out towards it. But sometimes I write everything out of order and then stitch it back together. Sometimes I find there’s more when I get to the end I planned. Sometimes I get to the end and then figure out exactly what happened, which can be a bit of a weird feeling.

What’s your writing process for comics and for books?
I’m usually a bit more structured in the way that I write comics, because you’re so limited by the format and the available pagecount. Usually I’ll have a good outline of what happens where and I’ll do page-by-page breakdowns before I start writing scripts. There’s a lot more planning with comics.

With prose I prefer to freewheel it more. I usually have a structure in my head but I like to leave myself room to discover more about the characters and the world. That’s the big difference, I guess: there’s a lot more room in prose.

Do you throw a lot away?
Not as much as I used to, but yeah, I do, especially in prose. I usually write more than is necessary in the first draft and then come back through and move stuff around, cut everything back. Usually this amounts to 10% of the wordcount on each draft. Satanist or no, being boring is the biggest sin for a writer.

Do you write every day?
I would if I could, but alas not. I do try to do some writing-related activity every day, but often this is non-creative stuff like updating websites or chasing up editors or artists.

Are you a planner or do you fly by the seat of the pants?
I guess I’m a pantser by nature, but I usually have an informal plan in my head, even if I don’t have one on paper. Every project is different, though.

How do you go with social media? What do you do to increase interest in your work and how much time do you spend on it? Any tips?
I’m pretty rubbish at it. I spend probably too much time on facebook and not enough time on twitter–hard to quantify how much time I spend because I check it throughout the day when I get some idle time. I don’t sit down and say “now I’m going to do social media,” which perhaps I should, so that I can meter my time… but I also think it’s a mistake to look at it as a marketing exercise to the exclusion of all else. Nobody wants to engage with you if you spend all day begging you to look at their work. Be a person who talks to other people and occasionally talks about their own work.

What 3 artworks (books, music, visual arts, films) have most inspired you?
Only three? Twenty wouldn’t be enough!

Ok, today my three are:
Roger Zelazny’s Amber cycle. I’ve just reread it for… well, I don’t know how many times I’ve read it, and it’s still fresh and smart. It’s so much a part of my DNA as a writer that I don’t even realize it any more.
Tom Waits’ album Bone Machine is something I keep coming back to. Aside from the brilliant songwriting I just love the sounds of it. It’s like a Disney villain gets drunk on the way to the circus and goes stumbling around a foundry. As dark as the album is, it’s also comical and hugely entertaining.
Being John Malkovich is one of my favourite movies. Charlie Kaufman and Spike Jonze take a surreal premise and build something that’s completely logical and meaningful out of it. Also, it’s goddamn hilarious.

jf_cThe launch of Sixsmiths Volume 2 will be on March 19 at 6.00 at Eydie’s: 86 Lygon St, Brunswick East VIC 3056

 www.jasonfranks.com

Email: jf@jasonfranks.com

Twitter: @jasefranks

 

 

Not what you think

Even though school holidays are over, the Zoo is still teaming with international visitors, lots of whom must walk from the city since they keep turning up at the station without myki cards. Lots of people from mainland China at the moment – (Chinese New Year) – which is lovely to see, but trying to deal with the fact that our ticket machines don’t give change or deal with foreign credit cards and that even single trip users have to buy a myki smart card, can be very complicated when there is little or no shared language. Luckily I’ve been able to enlist the help of mandarin speakers on the platform. Once they know the score, people often go off and call a cab.
With North Americans I don’t have communication problems, but my heart sinks when I discover they have no change. North American credit cards don’t have pin numbers and our machine takes nothing else.
Last week one tall and very handsome American, gave up and went outside to call UBER.
He was joined by two sleazy looking characters (you know the sort, skinny blokes with tatts and bad teeth) with a large Rhodesian Ridge back dog. The guys started admiring his Blue tooth headset in a way that made me a bit nervous so I went out and hovered around protectively. But instead of mugging the man, when they found out he didn’t have a ticket, they offered to give him one of their spare myki cards. (Most Melbournians have several by now) Then we all stood around and patted the very good-natured dog until the train came.

Wheelchairs

One of my wheelchair travelers is a young man of middle-eastern origin and poor English.  I don’t know if he didn’t understand that the driver would get a ramp out for him or if, as seems more likely, he is building up his strength to get in to the train without help. Some very fit individuals do. But he’s not there yet and last week he didn’t hoik the chair up high enough and it got caught on the lip of the train.  Over went the chair, tipping him face first onto the train floor.

He didn’t fuss, though the rest of us were flapping about in a tizz – train driver, station staff, fellow passengers. But the young man simply crawled around on his hands until he was in a good position for someone to lift him back into his chair.  He’s got the determination to get there eventually.  But I was relieved he waited for the ramp this week.

Not the best work day, yesterday

Despite being on time, the 4.44 didn’t come. It stopped at the previous station due to reports of a trespasser on the line between that station and us. A trespasser on the line can mean something as silly as someone looking for stray golf balls or kids out for a dare (as one young woman quipped to me, “You gotta love the idiots.”) Or it can be as serious as someone threatening self-harm in which case the police have to be called. Since the control room didn’t know which it was, I didn’t know either. With train delays as with many things in this life, it’s just wait and see.
I went around the station making sure everyone knew that they could make the slow journey into the city on the nearby tram if things got bad. When the announcement came that the delays might be up to 40 minutes there was a mass exodus to the tram stop.
From where you are cut off from the station by boom gates but where everyone could see the train when it came round the corner two minutes later and pulled up at the almost empty platform.
As I watched people streaming back from the tram stop, I confess I hid in the office, but I did answer the knock on the door.
Two angry ladies shouted at me. “This is outrageous,” yelled one. “What are you people playing at? You make us miss the train and now,” she waved as the tram trundled past, “You’ve made us miss the tram as well.”
It was like the bad old days when I used to do the rush hour shift. “We didn’t do it on purpose,” I said. “I’m afraid I’m only as good as the information I get,” I said. “That’s not good enough,” she said and “What’s the point of your job then?” The hardest thing about this situation is that she was in the right. “I can only apologize,” I said. Maybe I should have keep quiet about the tram.
Not the best work day.

Thai Curry Chicken balls – a word of warning.

During school holidays children get in to the Zoo for free so you can imagine how busy my station is. I’ve been flat out helping people buy tickets, giving directions and reassuring people that yes they are on the right platform to return to the city. You’d think I would get bored but I’ve spent lots of time chatting – mostly to tourists about how happy/unhappy they are to be here frying in our over 30 degree heat instead of freezing/frying elsewhere. Until today this week’s peak experience was having a selfie with Japanese honeymooners. (I warned them I was too ugly but their English wasn’t that good and they persisted.)
New Year’s Eve was much quieter mostly because it was H.O.T. !!! Around 39 to be precise. But I met this week’s favorite customer – a gentleman around 50/60 in a sombrero and a pony tail, sporting a large wooden cross. Without any preamble, he showed me the wildlife calendar he had purchased for his local vicar and I remarked that looking at the furry coat of the grizzly bear on the cover make me feel very hot. (So glad he took that as an innocent remark. But then he did not strike me as a man for innuendo.) From that topic we proceeded abruptly to Thai Curry Balls.
“I ate some once,” he said, “and I had the most terrible dream afterwards. I dreamt of a tethered goat being attacked by a wolf. I’ve never eaten them since.” (seems wise.)
I asked him if he was the goat but he changed the subject and began telling me about various cats he’d had and their various passions for sausage rolls or tinned Spaghetti Bol. I love conversations like this and a railway station is the perfect place for them because you have the comfort of knowing that a train will come and take the talker away before it all gets too much.
Wishing you all a Happy New year filled with as many Cat-loving eccentrics as you wish for. Thanks for supporting Station Stories.

Guns, lemurs and paint sniffing

The end of the year and a lot of school groups are coming through.

“I remember you,” says one 13 year old boy to me.  “We were here last year and that guy was sniffing paint on the opposite platform and he fell over.  That was scary.”

I remembered that day though not the boy.  My old friend J had sniffed so much paint out of his plastic bag  that he actually passed out on platform 2. He’d got up again by the time I got round to check on him. Removing the plastic bag from his face probably helped.

Platform 1 was full of a school kids who were most concerned about him so I took the opportunity to warn them about the dangers of paint sniffing.

I was sorry the boy was scared and hastened to reassure him. J hadn’t been in any particular danger that day.  In the 12 years I’ve been doing this job, I’ve become much more relaxed around people under the influence of substances and I hardly blink at it now.  (Probably not such a good thing)

“I saw that guy recently and he told me he’d given up,” I told the boy now.

The boy expressed doubt.  He regarded himself as a worldly youth and said he had relatives who took drugs and they never gave up.  Ah,the wisdom of youth! Statistics mean nothing to them.

My favorite customer this week was a woman from Georgia, U.S.A  with long cherry red hair and loads of silver jewelry.  When I asked her why she’d come to live in Australia, she won my heart by cheerily making a joke about gun control. (“I was getting tired of having to shoot people all the time”).  Apparently she was also sick of being legally obliged to have a sign on her door saying no guns in this house to stop people bringing their weapons into her home.

Also she’d fallen in love with an Australian and was about to become a citizen here.

She’d been in to the Zoo to feed the Lemurs and showed me a great picture of herself with a perky looking lemur on her lap.

“Does it get any better than that?” I asked and she agreed that her life had probably peaked and she might as well give up from now on.  She was fun.  Hope she comes back.

Station Stories – Making Japanese tourists happy

Japanese tourists have been a feature of my week. The Zoo seems to be crowded with beautiful and beautifully dressed young Japanese couples. The women especially wear lovely little dresses or little skirts and matching blouses and high heels to visit the Zoo. Honestly, I don’t even get that dressed up for drinks. I think they may be honeymooners or on wedding tours. Some days Melbourne’s beautiful gardens are full of young Japanese brides and grooms all dressed in white and tuxedos taking their wedding shots.
In an act of super tourist guiding this week, I appear to have made one young couple’s day. They asked me what else there was to do in Royal Park and I pointed out there was a golf course.
“But we’re not well enough dressed to play golf,” they said.
“This is Australia,” I said. “I’ve seen men playing golf here with no shirt on.” (And I have. May God protect me from such sights)
“I can play golf but you can’t,” said the man to the woman.
But he seemed a little reluctant to play. Still I looked up the prices which were very reasonable. It’s a public golf course.
“Let’s play. Let’s play,” said the woman.
They wandered off and sure enough 20 minutes later they were happily waving at me as they went past with their hired buggies. I wonder if the game got their marriage off to a flying start or blighted it at its beginning. Golf can be a pretty fraught game. Alas I shall never know.

The Conductor

Verdi_conducting_Aida_in_Paris_1880_-_Gallica_-_Restoration

Recently I’ve acquired a new regular at my station. A little man in his fifties who conducts – not trains but orchestras. Where ever he goes he plays band/orchestral music on his mp3 player and he conducts to it waving a long white baton. He conducts while waiting for the train, on the train and when he gets off again. I don’t know what he does at other stations, but watching him coming down the platform at you waving a white baton delicately held between his thumb and forefinger is as dynamic as seeing Harry Potter coming at you waving his wand. The Conductor is very fit looking which is not surprising as he conducts with his whole body. I’m no judge of the quality of his conducting.
Recently I ran into him at another station and he recognized me. I was on my way to work and wearing my uniform. He wasn’t conducting so we chatted and I asked him what he did. He said he was coming from a class. He said he taught percussion and trumpet and that he was also a guest conductor at a major symphony orchestra. He told me he’d had guest spots in Vienna and Paris this year. He described how hard it was to become a conductor. He was intense, but seemed complete in his world.
I’m keeping an open mind. I suspect, as do most of us on the line, that this is all fantasy, but I always keep an open mind about these things. It’s rude to tell someone they’re fibbing and you never know. It might all be true. Stranger things have happened.

Unicycle hockey

Working at zoo station this week and fell into conversation with a retired man who is working at introducing unicycle hockey to the local primary school.  Yes it’s true! People do play hockey on unicycles!!!  www://hockey.unicycling.org.au/

I’ve recently read A Time of Gifts -a travel book by Patrick Leigh Fermor.  He’d played bicycle polo in Hungary before the war. I’d thought it was just lost frivolity of a decadent upper-crust but my retired man says there is still a bicycle polo club in Melbourne, although these days you provide you own bike and they have trouble finding place to play.

After last week’s grim post, it’s nice to be reminded that the world can also be a delightful place.