Free Story: The Adventures of Dainty Green Tree Frog Man

On a sticky Brisbane night, the CityCat ferry glided past New Farm Park; its twelve passengers watching the shoreline pass, unaware of what was lurking in the waters below.  For just under the surface of the water, a dark, sinister character slithered after the ferry. 

The CityCat jolted to a stop.  A pungent, putrid, fishy smell assaulted the air.  The passengers and captain looked about frantically. And when the culprit appeared, their eyes widened and mouths dropped comically.  There, rising from the Brisbane River, was the most feared super-villain this fine city had ever let escape from prison.

‘It’s The Lungfish,’ one woman cried, as she clutched her baby.

‘I could never have imagined something so… disgusting,’ proclaimed another woman putting her hand over her mouth.

The Lungfish wore a maroon wetsuit, crimson boots, and a crimson gas mask.  He pulled himself up onto the ferry with his flipper-like arms.

‘Beware citizens of Brisbane, for I have had enough of your environmental negligence and ignorance,’ cackled The Lungfish.  ‘When my evil, unassailable plan goes ahead without disruption, it shall be the “Human Brisbanian” who will be endangered.’  He bellowed with laughter, but the passengers did not share in his amusement.

Suddenly, a big curling letter ‘F’ was illuminated onto the clouds from the city’s Skyneedle. 

‘Look, we’re saved,’ yelled a man gaily as he pointed to the symbol in the sky.

‘Damn it!  The captain must’ve contacted Stefan the hair dresser, the owner of the Skyneedle and close friend to my arch enemy,’ growled The Lungfish, explaining parts of the story that the reader might not understand the significance to.  ‘This means I’ll have to skip my usual spiel about caring for the environment and introduced species, and just release the bloody poisonous gas.’

‘Not if I can help it, Lung-face,’ came a soft, high-pitched voice from behind The Lungfish.  The Lungfish swiveled around.

‘Look, he’s here,’ called one of the passengers.  ‘It’s Dainty Green Tree Frog Man.’

‘Yes,’ came the voice, ‘but I prefer to be called “Litoria gracilenta Man”.  It’s my scientific name: a little more Latin and a little less vulnerable and pretty.’

Dainty Green Tree Frog Man, or “Litoria gracilenta Man” as only he called himself, stood for justice, freedom, democracy, barbeques on Sundays, beach cricket, drinking locally produced beers, metro-sexual men’s rights, and the Brisbane way.  He wore a lime green lycra suit, big yellow goggles, a plastic utility belt, a lime green beach towel around his neck like a cape, and a lime green bathing cap.

‘Nice of you to hop on in, Dainty Green Tree Frog Man,’ sniggered The Lungfish.  ‘But I’m afraid frog soup is on the menu tonight.’  Slowly, a brown gas began to envelope the boat.  ‘Sweet dreams, Dainty Green Tree Frog Man.’

‘That’s “Litoria gracilenta Man”,’ choked the lime green superhero after The Lungfish.  If only – I – could – get enough – strength – to follow him – then – I – could – find out – where – The Lungfish Lair – is, thought Dainty Green Tree Frog Man.

Splash. Lungfish disappeared into the sluggish river while Dainty Green Tree Frog Man and the passengers of the CityCat fell to the ferry’s floor and desperately struggled for oxygen.

‘Never fear law-abiding citizens, my “anti-poisonous-gas-vacuum” will save us,’ announced the hero in green as he weakly pulled a machine from his utility belt.  He fiddled with the dials on the machine, and the gas suddenly dispersed.

Click here for Part 2.  Subscribe to this blog to follow the crazy adventures of Dainty Green Tree Frog Man.

Taking the Road Less Travelled - An Audacious Plan to Self-Publish Fiction

I've got that movie trailer voice in my head. And it is saying something like (fade to black):

One man with no experience... decides to take on the publishing world...

And then they'd be sounds of cars, the beeping of crossings, and people's shoes hitting the tarmac.

With a self-published fiction book.

And then it would cut to me, and give a quick montage of what might be in store for me in the coming weeks. Because yes, deciding to self-publish a NOVEL, is a cardinal sin amongst 'intellectuals' - and that, and like, but like whatevvvveeerr. 

AND especially in the audacious manner I'm planning to do it.

But that's why it excites me (cue the waving flag in the background). It is the unknown. The challenge. The adventure.

Sure, I could've listened to the wise-heads (i.e. the ones that get uncomfortable when you deviate from their mental construction of 'social norm') and gone down the typical route... Submitting a manuscript into a publisher. Waiting 12 months for a few rejection letters (perhaps) and an offer to publish the book (perhaps).

Then, as a first time writer, I'd be given like 0.02 cents for each book sold, they'd do a "merde" job of marketing it (excuse the French), and they'd make me re-write it so it sounds "merde" and make the cover "merde". And then after a half-arse "merde" result, they'd discontinue it and the story would be dead. ("No reprints Mr. Newton, zee story does not sell!" ... yes, someone with a dodgy German accent would have published my book, and done a French job of it.)

Then, as a result of my baby being flushed down the toilet, I would spiral down into writer's depression... drink cheap wine for breakfast from a casket, not wash for weeks justifying the waves of tears have done a good enough job at cleansing my body, start yelling obscenities at the mirror and at my shadow, and end up shivering, rocking back and forth in the foetal position on a motel floor watching Two and a Half Men re-runs (because it just won't be the same without Mr. Epic Winning) with my seven pet stray cats and whispering "damn you Mr. Fake-German-accent-man".

That is not a "rock-star from mars" type attitude, Daniel, but the very pit of 21st Century society.

A risk not worth taking when you extrapolate the likely cause and effect with Chaos Theory science as I have just done.

So instead, I am taking the road less travelled - a road I recommend to anyone in any endeavour. The "risky" (read: "madman dreamer") road. The road that perhaps one of the characters in my book would take if they were in my position. The road that shouts "I don't care (too much) about what you think, I'm going to do something a little loco."

But as the seasoned traveller of roads less travelled, Dr. Livingston, wisely once said, or would've said if he were living right now and self-publishing his first novel (and writing this blog entry), "a road less travelled, may have bumps, but it is the friction that creates the diamond."

(I think he may have stolen two different clichés there.)

But how very wise of hypothetical Dr. Livingston. Very wise indeed.

So with his great hypothetical mixed-cliché advice ringing in my ears, today I set forth to become the most successful self-published writer since Moses wrote the ten commandments (I hear Moses' descendants are still getting royalties on it! Sweet! - I apologise in advance for that one). Or even, dare I dare to say daringly, more successful. Muhahahaha.  (Perhaps too early to mention my plans of world conquest???)

Wish me luck and a nay-sayer ray gun as I step into the unknown and rocky land of self-published fiction. I hope you come along for the ride (read: buy my book and subscribe to my blog)! Hehehe.

Coming to a blog near you.

P.S. I have not actually ever sent in a manuscript to a publishing house, but I am not adverse to someone doing so. If you want to send your manuscript to a publishing house, I wish you good luck, and see you where the roads meet... in the Amazon.