"Once upon a time there was a little boy called Tom and he loved climbing trees. Whether they were wattle trees or gum trees, it didn’t matter. He just climbed them.”

These were the beginning sentences of the first story I ever wrote at the age of 5 about little Tom who climbed one tree too many, fell out and broke his arm. I can’t remember the circumstances, but I obtained the dubious honour of reading it out in a prissy, constipated little voice that was broadcast on our commercial radio station in Canberra (2CA).

I was brought up surrounded by books and read a diverse range of stuff – Agatha Christie, Enid Blyton, the classics, mystery, horror, romance, my dad’s work papers, etc. I suspect the sub-strata of an ability to write was being laid down year by year through sheer absorption of the written word.

I was good at English (my essays were always A) and I liked to write entertaining letters to my relatives and friends, but this was the limit of my scope as a writer.

My husband and I started a computer company in Gippsland in 1981, and over a period of four years I churned out half a dozen promotional pieces for local papers, extolling how our company had saved a medical practice from excessive paperwork or how farmers had been riveted by our dairy and crop software.

Then in March of 1985 when our family moved to Melbourne , I watched a music video for the first time on TV. Not just any music video – THE music video that was to change my life. It was a band called Oingo Boingo (sorry – I didn’t make their name up) and I fell deeply, obsessively and unhealthily in love with the lead singer, Danny Elfman (composer of music for The Simpsons, Batman, Good Will Hunting, Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure etc. etc. etc.). My husband was disgusted. My daughter shared my obsession (although she was only 10, and I think her fantasies were nowhere near as rude as mine). My workmates were entertained.

I decided I had to meet the lead singer and hurl myself at his feet (or whatever part of him I could get to). The fact that I had no legitimate reason to meet this person, that he lived in Los Angeles and that I had never been overseas before, and that I was behaving like a lunatic was beside the point. After a few weeks of pondering, the bright idea finally surfaced that if I posed as a journalist, I had a passport to gain entry into Danny’s life.

I bought some music magazines to learn how music interviews were written. I rang a suitably alternate music type publication called Rock Australia Magazine (RAM) and boldly announced to the editor that I was going over to L.A. to see Danny Elfman and would he like an interview. Would he what! Turned out RAM admired Oingo Boingo and had been trying to get an interview for a while, but hadn’t been able to score one. I rang Boingo’s management company and told them I was an Australian journalist who wanted to interview the lead singer for RAM. They said that would be OK but requested that I send them some examples of previous articles I had written. I didn’t think that my story about Tom falling about of a tree would impress them very much, so I didn’t bother responding - I just rang them again a few days before leaving Australia and set a time and date to appear at their office.

To sum up, I flew to LA, writing out what I thought were professional interview-type questions on some paper whilst sitting in the plane. I was sent out to Danny’s house, discovered he had a gorgeous wife and 2 children (!!) and that he thought I was a real journalist! I proceeded to carry out a recorded interview with him very professionally and in a total state of shock.

Back in my hotel room, I discovered that the little cassette recorder I had recorded the interview on had a motor noise louder than a hair dryer, and I had to recall most of what had been said rather than replay it.

My article was bought and published by RAM. They were delighted.

As a bonus to my obsession with Danny, I discovered I loved writing articles about music and musicians. I had studied classical music for 18 years and loved most other forms of music, but it had never occurred to me that I could combine writing and music AND earn money for it! I bought lots of music magazines and studied the style in which they were presented, and then rang their editors and promoted myself as a freelance journalist. Most times, they were very enthusiastic about accepting a piece. I produced 5 more articles about Danny and his band. I was privileged to be asked to write a wonderful piece about film music for Cinema Papers and interviewed the composers of Picnic at Hanging Rock (Bruce Smeaton), Crocodile Dundee (Peter Best) and Man from Snowy River(Bruce Rowland). Word got out (I gained an excellent reputation as a journalist who refused to allow anything to go to press until the person/people being written about saw the final product and were happy about its accuracy and the way it was written), and one day the editor of the ABC’s publication 24 HOURS invited me out to lunch (their food and wine critic accompanied us) and asked if I would write articles for their magazine about artists who were a bit difficult to write about.

These articles were a real challenge. For a start, I never got to meet the artists but only interviewed them on the phone. As to what sort of artists, they really were the ABC’s “too hard basket”. A strange experimental group from Finland, an Celtic soprano, a pianist who gave me the most boring interview in the entire universe… I never knew who I was going to write about next, and sometimes I only had a day or two’s notice. At one stage, I was working on 11 articles at one time! I even interviewed Monash’s teacher of Javanese gamelan and was invited with my dad to an amazing dinner at his home, and we stayed in contact for some years.

One of the film composers I had interviewed dropped a word into the editor’s ear at the Sun Herald, and the next thing, I was commissioned to write a twice-weekly column for 6 months about computer products!

Eventually I got involved in other projects that did not involve writing, but every now and then I get moved to write a letter to New Scientist or the Green Guide or the local paper (and they always get published).

I consider Danny Elfman was my Muse (“a spirit that inspires a poet, composer, or writer; source of inspiration”: World Book Dictionary). Whether I could have arrived at such a creative point without seeing him is anyone’s guess, but it’s sure been fun and enriching all round (except to Danny, who was probably perplexed and alarmed)!

About Jenni Gyffyn:
I came through the 70s (enough said) and studied classical music for 18 years whilst doing other things. I have been a public servant; one of three working partners in a recording studio; a computer sales and training person; a Justice of the Peace (valid in Tasmania only) and legal secretary; assistant to senior executives (whatever that means) in a cardboard manufacturing company, and secretary to patent attorneys. I am currently an administrator for a very fine organisation that provides cheap accommodation to patients and their partners or carers who come from the country or interstate needing medical treatment that may take days or weeks or months. At nights and weekends I am on staff in a non-denominational religious organisation that helps able people become more able in all areas of their life. And I love dogs!