Each Mothers' Day the world spends billions of dollars on cards, in fact every occasion is celebrated by exchanging gifts, or cards, sometimes letters hold the message. Behind it all someone has written something, it might be short like, I love you Mum, I couldn't do it without you. Your loving son Bill.
Now I know that's hardly original, but when you think that Bill set out to find a card with the right words to express his love, he had a connection with an often faceless author who penned the lines that captured his imagination. They said what he couldn't articulate.
The card writers' skill is not to be underestimated, they are part poet, part philosopher and every one a literary genius. Song writers fill a world of emotion into the lines of a song, poets can keep us entertained with a hundred lines, but the person who penned the verse in that card you bought for your mother managed it in just over five to seven lines.
Today when you pass over your gift with the card sticky taped to the top, give a silent thank you to the unseen writer who cranked out that message and many more to meet the quota his or her job demanded on the day.
I'll raise a glass and toast each one of them today, I challenge you to do the same.
Terry L Probert is a novelist and shortstory writer. His debut novel KUNDELA earned a commendation in the 2013 FAW Christina Stead Award. Currently looking for an agent/publisher to bring any of his novels to print, Terry is a member of the Fellowship of Australian Writers, Writers Victoria and SA Writers. Terry is active in his local literary community. His Short Story Banib the Bunyip placed second in the City of Melton Short Story Competition 2013.
Sunday 8 May 2016
Monday 25 April 2016
My Anzac Day Tribute
Your
Grandad’s medals sit in my drawer
Presented
to him at the end of the war
And
though he left us when you were young
I keep
them to remind me of songs he sung
Like
Waltzing Matilda and Danny Boy
Always
lusty and sung with joy
On Anzac
Day in Seventy Two
He
beamed with pride when he first saw you
And so today my son I have them on view
To remind
me of the terror that he went through
Believing
his land would be safe from harm
If he
shouldered a rifle over his arm
I hope
like him the day will come
When
there will be no need for a mother’s son
To be asked
to make such sacrifice
And for
our young country to pay such a price
And
though you left us when you were young
Presented
to you at the end of the war
Your medals
sit safely in my drawer
We keep
them to remind us of songs you sung
Tuesday 19 April 2016
Good information hidden in here
I found this link through a comment I made on Linked in's Author U pages.
Hope it's helpful:
http://buildbookbuzz.com/amazon-book-description/
Hope it's helpful:
http://buildbookbuzz.com/amazon-book-description/
Saturday 9 April 2016
Planning a Book Tour for 2017
Hi,
Starting to see the end in sight for Les Gillespie's Gold and beginning to think about a book launch sometime in 2017. So I need some suggestions for the following.
Starting to see the end in sight for Les Gillespie's Gold and beginning to think about a book launch sometime in 2017. So I need some suggestions for the following.
- Australian towns to visit.
- What would be better, a library, or book-store launch venue
- Best time of day.
- Would you prefer me to talk on my writing processes, or about the book itself.
- Contact details of the librarian or bookshop manager.
If you can help, Please message me via Facebook or leave a comment on the blog.
I am looking forward too and will be thankful for your input.
Cheers,
Terry
Wednesday 9 March 2016
Les Gillespie's Gold excerpt from Chapter 38
I put chapter thirty eight of my Les Gillespies Gold manuscript to our writing group for critique today. At this point we are about half way into the story and much is happening.
I loved writing the chapter and although long has added quite a bit of drama and intrigue to the tale. I particularly liked tapping out this exchange by three generations of Gillespie girls.
I hope you enjoy it too.
Laura and Tilly
nattered while they drove to the farm, in the back Emily put her iPod down.
‘Mum, you said Pop wanted to go to Wilson’s, right?’
‘That’s
what he said. Why?’
‘Can
we go skinny dipping like you and Samantha did?
Laura, her face
full of question, turned to her daughter with palms upturned. Tilly said
nothing.
Emily
kept up.’ And what is skinny dipping anyway?’
Tilly
felt her face flush, Laura’s hands paddled the air in slow circles. ‘Yes,
Tilly, come on,’ She made exclamation marks with her fingers. ‘just what is
skinny dipping?’
‘It’s
a saying we use for having a swim, a swim in a water hole.’ Tilly turned to her
mother. Laura watched as a rolled up tongue breached her daughter’s lips and
slipped back as quick as it appeared. ‘And no, Em. Not today, we didn't bring
any bathers.’
‘Robert
says you don’t wear bathers, when you’re skinny dipping.’
Laura
was still facing Tilly, she shrugged and mouthed the words ‘Who is Robert?’
‘Tell
Granny about Robert, Em.’ Embarrassing moment avoided, she hoped.
‘He
has to sit in the naughty corner at Fiona’s.’
‘And
why does he do that?’ Laura asked
‘Because
he pulls the girls hair and calls us names.’ Emily picked up her tablet. ‘Can
you show me the waterhole?’
‘Maybe
on a nice warm day when we have our bathers, you me and Jeff can all go
swimming.’ Tilly said and put her hand up to high five her mother.
‘Not
so fast, Tilly Gillespie.’ Laura said. ‘Samantha’s from the mining company,
you’ve had dinner with her and now Emily says you have been out to Wilson's.
When were you going to tell Dad?’
Monday 22 February 2016
A little bit of Les Gillespie's gold
I'm looking at the finish line for my manuscript, so I thought I would share the opening of a chapter about three quarters the way through. Tell me what you think.
Darryl and
Angela stared at the incident board.
‘Uniform
tomorrow, Boss?’
‘Ah...’
Angela continued to post information from the Hammond Road murders on the board, Cassidy was lost in thought. He kept staring into the face of Joe’s attacker. ‘Sorry?’ he said.
Angela continued to post information from the Hammond Road murders on the board, Cassidy was lost in thought. He kept staring into the face of Joe’s attacker. ‘Sorry?’ he said.
‘What
should I wear tomorrow? Uniform, or plain clothes.’
‘Plain
clothes, let’s do our best to emulate our city cousins. Otherwise, they’ll brush
us off as country hicks.’
‘Works
for me, Sir.’ She thought about the suit she had bought at the beginning of
summer and hadn’t worn yet. ‘Tomorrow, clothes will maketh the woman.’ She
said.
‘Yeah...
Okay.’ Darryl was deep within his mind again. He walked to the window and searched
the streetscape, hoping for inspiration.
‘Boss,’
he didn’t hear her, ‘Boss?’
Cassidy
didn’t look back. ‘You’re the computer whiz, overlay the photo of those tyre
tracks,’ he tapped the board, ‘and the ones near the gate where Jeff found the
ute. Can you do that?’
Friday 12 February 2016
A few lines from Chapter 37 of Les Gillespie's Gold
Jeff
rummaged behind the seat for a couple of minutes. He folded the back forward to
gain better access. The bolt cutters lay below a steel box with a lock on it.
The padlock was under the hasp and Jeff lifted the lid, a 9mm self-loading pistol lay encased in foam rubber. It was Army issue. He picked up the cutters
and walked over to Joe. ‘Anything you want to tell me about the box under the
seat?’
‘Nope.’
‘It’s not locked.’
‘And you looked?’
‘The policeman in me,’ Jeff said,’ I’m curious.’
‘That’s what got the cat killed.’ Joe said. He did not look at Jeff and
worked the cutters on the chain.
‘Got a licence for it?’
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