I read everything I could get my hands on, from Enid Blyton to Andy Warhol. Colin Thiele was my favourite author as a child. Reading his novel, The Fire in the Stone, at the age of eleven, was a turning point.
The morning after I had finished it I faked an asthma attack, stayed home from school and began copying the book out, using a pen, into a notebook. Word for word, starting from page one. I got to about the fifth page before my hand cramped and I realised it was probably easier to ask my parents to buy it for me for Christmas.
Would you say your childhood and teenage reading has had a distinct influence on how you write fiction now, and why?
No, I wouldn’t. But let me qualify that. Back then, I read to escape. To some extent I still do. And so I aim always to create a literary world peopled with believable characters and with the detail and texture that allows a reader to inhabit my stories.
The thing that has had the most influence on my writing is the life I’ve lived, the experiences I’ve had, the journey to become the person I am.
What I have or haven’t read is of far less importance. Reading and writing are two completely different activities, as different as watching football on tv and playing it. Everyone who writes knows this.
Pick one of your favourites among your fiction stories or a story which is an interesting example from your fiction. What makes this story one of your favourites or an interesting example of your fiction?
In ‘The Wind and the Salt’ I explore the relationship between Martin, his wife and his son on a tense holiday at a caravan park in an isolated part of South Australia. Over the course of three days, things happen that force Martin to reappraise his relationship with his son and himself. The story plays with the idea that very small incidents or actions can reverberate in powerful ways. It traverses regret, nostalgia and the possibility of small acts of redemption. ‘The Wind and the Salt’ also subverts ‘literary’ notions of how a story should end. It avoids the emotional flatness that characterises (and spoils) many of the short stories written since Hemingway.
Who is another author whose fiction writing you admire and why?
Cate Kennedy, for her braveness in telling stories that matter. Stories that are shaped in such a way that, if spoken out loud to an audience, they wouldn’t evoke blanks stares and muttered ‘so whats?’ Richard Ford for the way he draws us so completely into the world and mind of his character, Frank Bascombe.
How would you summarise one of your short stories in one paragraph?
In ‘The Colour of Kerosene’, Luke, a taxi-driver, accepts a fare he knows he shouldn’t. He drives Pete and Pete’s two girlfriends to a remote sheep station on the promise of $600 and a free tank of fuel. Pete’s behaviour becomes more and more menacing and Luke’s petrol gauge reads empty by the time they get to the station. The fuel bowser is padlocked and Luke is cajoled into a drinking and card-playing session with Pete and his mate, The Greek, that sees Luke owing Pete $600 by the time it’s over. Can Luke trust Jess, Pete’s half-sister and lover, when she comes to him with the key to the padlock? Will Luke turn left, back to his hometown, where the dirt track meets the bitumen? Or will he take Jess’s advice and turn right, on a road he doesn’t know?
How would you describe the appeal of this short story to readers?
‘The Colour of Kerosene’ is set in the Australian outback and evokes all the fears we have of travelling through its quiet, empty vastness. If
something goes wrong out there, you’re on your own. It has believable characters, a tight plot, and a protagonist readers can relate to. A thoughtful man who has unwittingly thrown his lot in with desperadoes and must find the courage to act, and act decisively.
How would you summarise a scene or sub-section from this short story in one paragraph?
Unable to leave the station, Luke spends the night in his taxi, parked near the homestead. He wakes up early, goes for a walk to get his bearings, and finds the padlocked petrol bowser. He walks back towards the homestead, a rock in his hand, edgy, not knowing what to do. Jess is on the verandah. Luke drops the rock and she pretends not to notice it.
Luke asks her ‘What’s going on?’ and they talk, and she tells him she can’t understand how anyone could live out here. Luke sees that her eyes are the palest blue, the colour of kerosene, and he guesses that she is Pete’s sister.
How would you describe the contribution this scene or sub-section makes to the short story?
While not much is said, everything that is said matters. Luke and Jess give each other a glimpse into their lives and hopes. In some small way, a bond has been made. This will prove crucial to Luke when he takes his chance to get away from Pete, The Greek and the station.
Do you aspire to primarily write novels in the future, or are you more interested in writing short stories, and why?
My collection of short stories, ‘The Colour of Kerosene’, is due out through Wakefield Press in early 2012. I am currently working on two novels and a film script and these things will occupy me for the next few years.
Do you read many short story anthologies, and why?
I read as many short stories as I can. I love the form. I love immersing myself in another world.
What lengths of short stories do you usually write, and why?
The stories in ‘The Colour of Kerosene’ range from 500 to 7,500 words.
Most of them sit between 1,500 and 3,500 words. There’s no reason for it. The story itself largely dictates the length.
Do you submit for many short story competitions, anthologies and magazines, and what are your main motivations for this?
In 2008, I won the Josephine Ulrick Literary Prize for ‘The Colour of Kerosene’. It got me noticed. It gave me confidence and contacts and encouragement. It put $10,000 into my bank account, allowing me to write full-time for another six months. Don’t be shy. Don’t be precious. Do it.
http://sawriters.org.au/general/cameron-raynes
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