“Nice day, huh?”
“Not so much,” I said, a small smile crossing my lips.
“Parking was a nightmare! How did you manage?”
“I caught the bus.”
“Really? In this weather?”
“I’ve been meaning to go for my driver’s license, but things have been so hectic over the last few months.”
He nodded. “I can imagine.”
“So, I have to ask. How did you wind up with a name like Colorado? There must be a story there.”
“Well, my mum was obsessed with the book On the Road—do you know it?”
“Yeah, by Kerouac.”
“That’s the one. She was saving up for a big road trip across America, but then she met Dad. Soon after, she was pregnant with me.”
“So she never went?”
“No, though she still talks about it sometimes. She had this affinity with Colorado. It used to be a running joke with Dad—the closest she ever got to Colorado was me.”
I smirked. “Very funny.”
“My dad used to think so, but he was probably the only one.”
“So are you still living at home?”
“No, I moved out a few months back. I just needed a change of scenery. I couldn’t walk down the street incognito. Everyone I bumped into would give me that look. You know, that ‘There’s the guy with the dead girlfriend’ look.”
I nodded.
“So I got a job stacking shelves at the supermarket and signed a lease for a shoebox apartment in Paddington.”
“Oh, that’s not too far from me.”
“You moved out too?”
“Kind of. I’m house-sitting with Lucy at her uncle’s place. We’re in Surry Hills.”
“Really? Hey, that’s great! How’s Lucy?”
“Really good. She’s studying business at Sydney U. Freddy’s there with her—they’re enrolled in the same course.”
“I have to give Freddy a call. I owe him a beer,” said Rad. “I’ve literally been a hermit while writing this book. It’s time to come out of hibernation, I suppose.”
“What was that like? Hibernation, I mean. A lot of writers talk about this creative vacuum when they’re busy working on a project, and I’ve always been curious about it.”
“You kind of lose perspective after a while. At least, it was that way with me. You become insular. I barely left my apartment the whole time I was writing Snowflake. I kept odd hours. I was stacking shelves at night, so I would sleep in during the day. There’s a café downstairs, which was handy. Sometimes, if I felt up to it, I would walk up to Centennial Park, feed the ducks.”
“It sounds perfect, actually.”
“Oddly enough, I did enjoy it, but only because I was working on something I cared about. I think I’d go crazy if I was just doing time.”
“I can’t believe you talked about doing something and actually accomplished it. I mean, not only did you write a book but you also got the Elliott Tate nomination.”
“It was a nice surprise,” he said, with a shrug. “But the biggest thrill was getting the publishing deal.”
“How did it happen? Take me through it.”
“I didn’t have an end goal in mind when I was writing Snowflake. It was something I was compelled to do—I felt like I would go mad if I didn’t. Writing was cathartic for me. Before I knew it, I’d finished the book, and I parked it to one side for a few weeks. Then, one night I was surfing the web, and I came across a competition that Geidt & Ekstrom was running. Do you know who they are?”
“I’ve heard about them. They’ve only been around a few years, but they’ve published a string of hits.”
“Yeah, they’ve had a good run.”
“I wasn’t aware of the competition, though.”
“I don’t think it got any media attention, probably because it was the first year they ran it.”
“That makes sense. So how did it work?”
“They were on the lookout for a novella. The prize was a publishing deal and a decent sum of money. Kind of like an advance.”
“My editor, Sam, was telling me that novellas are coming back in vogue.”
“Yeah, there is definitely a trend, which is great. Some of the best classics are novellas.”
“I know. Animal Farm is one of my favorite books.”
“Same.”
“And I’m guessing you won the competition?”
“I did.”
“Amazing,” I said, sitting back in my seat and shaking my head. “So what happened next?”
“I quit my job as soon as the prize money came in. It’s kind of neat that I can focus all my attention on writing now. At least for the next year or so. What about you? How did you get this gig? I know some graduates who are still struggling to get their foot in the door.”
I told him all about Angie and Sam, my internship, and then my full-time position.
“Wow, lucky break.”
“I know. Things are going so well for me at the moment.”
“I’m glad to hear it. You deserve it.”
“Thanks. I’m crossing my fingers for the Elliott Tate Award. I think Snowflake definitely has a good chance of winning.”
“So I’m guessing you’ve read it?”
I nodded. “It’s part of my job description. I loved it by the way.”
“You know, some of our conversations went into Snowflake.”
“Well, I had no idea you were the author, so you can imagine how freaked out I was when I was reading it.”
“Sorry.” He looked sheepish. “I actually didn’t think it would ever see the light of day.”
I waved my hand at him. “Don’t worry about it.”
“You’re not going to sue me?”
“The thought did cross my mind.”
The rain outside was slowing down to a patter. We ordered coffee and a basket of fries. The café was now almost empty on account of the bad weather. It was also an odd time of day—too late for lunch and too early for dinner. The dull light from the gray sky lending a quiet ambience to the room, a slow, lazy tempo punctuated by the faraway clatter of plates and cutlery.
“So I suppose we should start the official interview.”
“Sure.”
“Do you mind if I record this?”
“Not at all.”
I pulled my phone from my bag and placed it on the table between us. Then I tapped the Voice Memos app and sat back in my seat.
“Why don’t you tell me more about the book? Why did you choose Wisconsin as the setting? Have you ever been there?”
“No, I haven’t been there. I always imagined a stark backdrop, and I suppose Wisconsin automatically puts you into that landscape. I liked the idea of setting it in winter, the bleakness of it.”
“I really love the ending. It was poetic. That sense of isolation Emily felt walking into the snowstorm. She thought that everything she had done would be covered over by the snow and her footprints would disappear from the world along with everything that had ever validated her existence. Then—and you wrote this beautifully—we follow the single snowflake as it makes its slow, hypnotic descent down to land on Emily’s cheek and melt into a single teardrop. It felt like at that moment, every snowflake in that field was a teardrop and the whole world was crying for her.”
“I knew you’d get it. When I finished the book, I wanted to call you. I would have if I hadn’t deleted your number from my phone.”
“I would have liked that.”
“I’m glad we’re here now. It feels important somehow.”
We were quiet for a few moments.
“Are you still with Duck?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
I flushed at the obvious disappointment in his voice. There was an awkward pause, so I hurried back to the interview. “You have many powerful scenes in Snowflake. Aside from the ending, I love the scene where Emily finally stands up to her father. I mean, it was heart-wrenching, but at the same time—triumphant.”