Surf, sun, sand — a stark contrast to the moody world of Michael Forman’s stories and mind, whose lighter side is reported to be residing in this popular beachside suburb. The question needs to be asked: If he’s in Mandurah, where is he?
Mysteries are part of Forman’s writing repertoire. It’s not unusual for one of his creepy protagonists to move around and work close to the community in which they live. If he took inspiration from them, he’d choose to hide in plain sight. Have you seen Michael Forman?
Oh, for goodness’ sake, I’m in Mandurah! So? It’s no big secret. I’m not hiding — and I don’t care for shock-news headlines (especially those I write, for the purpose of search engines) either. I’m here — just trying to make a living in Mandurah. Who cares where I live? Everyone lives somewhere. I just happen to live in a sunny coastal region. The sand and surf have nothing to do with hiding or hiding in plain sight. I write stories. That’s it. I manufacture make-believe and create scenarios for characters to experience so readers can enjoy them in books. The world outside my window plays no part in its creation or concealment. I’m accessible. I’m right on this damn page!
But if it makes readers happy to believe in writer cliches: I’ll assure them that I write in a poorly lit corner of my broken-down beach shack. It’s in a bad state of disrepair and the garden is overgrown through years of neglect. The desk on which I write is made of the lid of a coffin. I never see sand, surf or waves. I don’t get out much. My skin is a pasty white. Children run away screaming when they catch a rare glimpse of me through one of my hazy, cracked windows.
I digress.
Some authors live in luxury while creating corroded, dystopian worlds. Others live in squalor while writing stories of wealth and royalty. It’s just make-believe anyway — those differences are what make good writers better ones. A bit of research and a creative fire will always get a story over the line. Everyone knows that. Well, I assume they do.
So yes, I live in a picture-postcard region of the world but my soul is forever chained to the darkness. I can’t help it. I write from the shadows, which is why I choose to live in a place where there is plenty of sunshine. It rescues me from a gloomy pit. Light is a lifeline out of those psychological shadows. Mandurah resets my life force and grounds me when my dark writing journeys come to a close.
I’m not in hiding anywhere. I’m living here. My somewhere is a small holiday town situated between Perth and Bunbury, Western Australia. It’s nowhere special but, to me, it serves a purpose — and I can be easily found. The local karaoke scene knows me well. Just ask. I’m around. I’m out there!
Five women’s bodies are discovered after the nights of thunderstorms. Their spouses are suspected of the crimes, but it becomes clear that someone else is responsible. There’s no blood and few clues. A storm photographer specialising in taking lightning pictures may be the only witness.
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