Matthew Stadler's Personal Weblog

The time between March 24 to April 6 was a like a roller coaster ride. During this time I noticed how grossly obese I had become. I was having problems doing even the most mundane routine chores. My dresses were too small and expressed their inability to cover my big frame. The toilet seat was too tiny and I feared sitting on it lest it would refuse to take my heavy load and crash in protest. Walking was a problem too, I would get out of breath and feel like plunking on the couch with just a tiny bit of exertion. Driving was another predicament; my capacious body would refuse to fit in the small space offered by the car. Getting in and out of the vehicle was a laborious undertaking in itself.

People had also started reacting to my big frame. Some would give mocking glances; others would look at me like I was an irresponsible jerk who had screwed up his life. A number of acquaintances were embarrassed when they talked with me. Association with me had become a disgrace for them. Some friends would show concern; others would give blunt sarcastic statements. All this with the same effect; I was becoming miserable by the day and my life was a living hell.

It was during this nightmarish time that I was visited by a writer friend of mine, the famous overweight British writer William Leith. I decided to confide in this trusted mate of whom I had know for a very long time. Having himself dealt with weight problems, he quickly understood my plight and decided to take matters in his hands.

The very first thing to do was to find apt piece of clothing. My friend gave the following guidelines: Never wear tight clothing, go for loose attire, which easily fits. This will not only hide the plump but also make you feel comfortable. Wear black as it hides fat better than other colors. Wear easy fitting shoes, again this will put you at ease and the more relaxed you are the more confident you will feel. For formal occasions, wear customized coats (he gave me the address of a tailor who made such coats) and dark shirts.

Second, don't be conscious of your body. Be as relaxed as possible and don't judge yourself. Attitude is the key, if you feel and exude poise, people will look at you as a confident person and never dare to look down upon you.

Third, be extremely cordial and polite in all conversations. Pleasant speakers are always welcome and easily form part of a gathering. Hide your physical grossness by showering love and affection. Remember, the first impression you create would be unpleasant because of your physical robustness; hence you must make up for it with the nice conversations you indulge in. Smile a lot and don't be grumpy.

Fourth, don't binge eat in public. Have small portions and be the first to finish. You can always come back home and satiate yourself.

Armed with this knowledge and some days of training with shopping, my friend and I decided to put things to test. I had to present my very latest fiction to a group of people in Tokyo. Dressed in a smartly fitting dress, given by my friend, we arrived at the venue. I started the presentation by exchanging pleasantries. I made my conversation extremely polite and refined, using the tips my friend had given me. I was surprised at the positive vibes I was sub-consciously receiving from all around, this put me more at ease and gave me even more confidence. The presentation went extremely well and ended with me receiving a thumping applause .I had never been applauded at such an appearance before. My friend had saved the day and indeed my life.

Later, we were invited to a secret underground nightclub. Dressed in another one of my friend's dresses, I was looking adorable. Beautiful people at the club glanced appreciatively at me. I could feel their love and admiration. I danced all night and had the most beautiful time. I could not believe how much life had changed for me.

On my return to Portland, I was amazed to see that people were unable to recognize me. My new look had them dumbfounded and they could not fathom that I was the same person. I was walking down the street and I ran into Mayor Vera Katz. I waved hello but she did not recognize me.

"Do I know you?" She inquired.

"I am Matthew Stadler. You know, the famous writer."

"Matthew, you look so different. I can't exactly place what it is."

"Oh, Vera. It's still the same old me," I said "Time, which changes people, does not alter the image we have retained of them." Oh! How beautiful life is now.

The time between April 6 and April 26 was like an elevator ride. Down down into the dark basement of my lonely thoughts, and then up up into the sunlight of shared creative fellowship. And nobody at the party noticed my newly gross body either, I had almost to drag their attention to it. Peter Abrahams, the famous South African writer, was happy to attend a little gathering at my shack at Arch Cape. I put him up in the mulberry room; it has a great view of the sea stacks, a steam shower and low-flow toilet en suite. My friend Solshenitsyn stayed in the simpler mauve room next to him, with not quite as great a view, or bathroom. I would have had Nabokov or Brodsky down, but, dammit, they're dead. Harold Pinter was across the hall in the puce. A good Nobelist is hard to find. I greeted them with fresh croissants, brioche, raspberry jam of my own manufacture, fresh roasted coffee and a plan for our time together. We would write an epic of world peace. A piece of work so wonderful it would not only bring the harmony of the spheres to our little patch of the universe, it would also raise its authors above the status of merely regional writers, like Steinbeck. Solly helped the other two guys up to their rooms. He's still pretty spry. At dinner, we feasted on truffled wild boar, after a light first course of vichysoisse and local oysters. Really unctouous pommes frites. Potatoes Anna. And Hush Puppies for balance. Then a small salad and Bombe. For wine, a few bottles of one of the great old Burgundies. Not from California. Pinter nodded a little, he doesn'thave much of a head for wine I think, but he did seem to enjoy my Gilda impression. They all like a flash of curvy thigh, don't they? "I like'em big ," Pinter confided to me as we relaxed on the specially braced divan before the fire. "And you're enormous." I smiled at him shyly, squeezing my arms together at my sides to improve the frontal view. "And you write. I love a woman who writes." I guess he does. A thing is not necessarily either true or false, as he'd say. Now Solly was nodding in the shadows. Had I overfed my guests? From the inglenook, Abrahams watched us sharply. I offered them brandy. But they were tired from their journeys, and soon enough the party broke up. I was sleeping when Peter scratched on my door. But I was happy to wrap myself in my magenta plaid pashmina(the one with the spangles) and join him down on the beach. We drank a bottle of ouzo together companionably, side by side on the cool powdery sands. We exchanged confidences I will never share with another living soul, and we wrote a little ditty. As I remember:"Lights out , lights out , now we are all alone..." No wait, sorry,that was the other Peter Abrahams. This one went:" I wakes to sleep and takes my waking slow/ These waves tells me just where I needs to go/It's like that gander flying oer the snow." Not very good, I know. It was 3AM. We were drunk. He said he loved to see my body splayed out in the darkness like a great white dune. I liked that. Our little symposium is kind of a blur for the next few days. There was a huge storm, waves crashing etc etc. Sometime I danced for my guests on the reinforced table. I remember dimly, Peter shouting at me "I do not write crime novels." Old Pinter quoting and quoting:"Uncovers the precipice under everyday prattle..." Prattle indeed. Late one night during the height of the storm, I think,bedraggled Dan Savage, the famous gay sex-columnist, wandered in from Palm Springs, really upset about a love-affair or some lost luggage. I guess maybe I cured him, not even really meaning to, with that well-known honey-bath cure of Kevin Canty's. If I did I'm sorry. We're both sorry---it could ruin his career. And God it was sticky. As for the Epic Of World Peace? It didn't quite get finished. We did work on it some, in the evenings by the fire. And the experence was wonderful. Such fellowship. We are left with some good ideas, some directions to try. We're gonna try again in fall, at Jackson Hole. We got a grant!

At night you got a dream in which you where a great writer. So in the next morning you decide to work on it. Your story begins in this way. You where struggling for work you have the talent but they want's one how can please them and this was out of your rules, so you gave it up. While you where passing by a river side in late night you show a dead body of you loving girlfriend and you decide to investigate it. While you where investigating it you came to know that a politician was behind it. You fight for your girlfriend and gave punishment to that guilty politician. Your story was selected for making film, and the film was posted on www.youtube.com . You where happy with your work. Your friend's and relative where also happy .