Greetings, Hero

A collection of short fiction by Aiden O'Reilly

• Greetings, Hero
• The Way It Is
• Scrapyards
• Man for the Job
• Concrete Triumphant
• The Freudian
• Washday
• The Re-education Camp

Editing notes

I will link up the stories above one by one as I re-edit them. Just finished a revision of The Freudian. At one stage I thought psychology must be the WISDOM that I was seeking. It was the psychiatrist/psychologist (I'm still not clear on the difference) who would have true knowledge of what the human is and what he should do with himself.

I have never visited an analyst, but many of my friends have. I am jealous of them - there are so many things I miss out on for lack of money.

Editing notes

The title story was waiting a long time to be written. Aiden wrote it over Christmas 2004/2005. The title (of the story and the collection) was around long before the story. Hopefully it does it justice. The story was edited and revised in June 2006. At over 10,000 words, Aiden hopes it is worth your while printing it out, and still recommends it as your first read.

Over the years Aiden has forced himself to write not in the way he wants, but in the way he thinks will get published. Recently (less than a year ago) he took up The Way It Is again and edited it. You will not find its like anywhere else.

The way it is was first added in early January 2005. Here too the title came before the story. The concept was there in my head, yes my head, a small insistent voice this is the way it is but for a long time I did not know what to do with this phrase.

The Reader is Dead

When I picture the reader, I picture an empty armchair. I have rarely spoken with people who have read my work. I would not know how to talk about my work. Of all the art forms, writing should be the one where the artist can best give a verbal account of the origin and aim of the work. One would think so anyway.

With at least some of my pieces I hope it can be said, they are voices emerging from a direction from which no voice was expected to be heard. As long as publishers persist in marketing only high-profile actors, journalists, and celebrities, it will remain unheard except to the half-dozen or so who read them here every day.

Stoneybatter

Stoneybatter is an ancient, unassuming corner of Dublin city on the north bank of the Liffey, extending roughly between the Phoenix Park, the North Circular Road, and Smithfield market. It is well known for its neat little roads of terraced artisan houses. There are no front gardens and no back lanes; the miniature rear gardens abut back to back. This is the cats' domain. At night the street lighting is curiously ineffective. The lamps fight back against the encroaching pools of blackness. The stories above were written in Stoneybatter. They have no other connection to this area, but I liked the sound of the name.

Photo courtesy of Daria Michalska

Contact

I welcome emails.

my_name@my_name.com

where my_name is replaced with aidenoreilly (this is a measure to stop spam)