Wow, the Worry of a Rejected Manuscript.

I had written a long story which I thought was aimed at a middle-school market, when I asked for the manuscript to be edited it came back with almost 50,000 words removed from the original draft. I now understood where I went wrong, by head hopping the plot and subplots became so complicated, I missed the mark. After submitting to several publishers and receiving their rejections I asked what were the reasons for rejecting it. No one said it wasn't commercial, but they wee worried it was patronising. I now wonder if I should keep some of these pieces that hit the cutting room floor and re-write for an adult audience.

Meet a couple of my favourite characters in a piece that didn't make the cut.

John knocked on the front door. It opened, he showed his identification and asked. ‘William Wyatt?’

‘Yes.’

‘I saw you at the Farrier place yesterday and wondered if we could ask you a few questions. May we come in?’ Jenny showed her warrant card. ‘This is Constable Azzopardi.’

Willy ushered them into the kitchen. It was tidy, but Jenny could tell he lived alone. Dishes drained on the sink and the place was dark.

‘Mind if I open the drapes?’ She asked.

‘Not at all, I had a long night and only got up a couple of hours ago.’

‘Do you know the bloke in this sketch.’

‘He’s Phillip Ryan, a Professor of History at Melbourne Uni.

‘And you recognise this, why? Jenny asked.

‘Because I think, no, I know he wants an old book that belongs to Toby. He has some strange idea that it’s his. He has a fixation about the criminal characters of early Australia, particularly Melbourne. He’s written about twenty books on them.’ Willy yawned. ‘Pardon me. After you lost him at the Farrier’s yesterday, I thought he might have hidden out at his boat, but I didn’t see him near the marina all night.’ William stood up and lifted the kettle. ‘Tea or coffee?’

‘No thanks.’ Jenny said. ‘We’ll be off in a minute. Where is this boat?’

Willy scribbled down the address and passed it to her.

‘Expensive habit,’ John said studying the note. ‘Professors must earn plenty?’

‘Old money, family trust, the boat’s in the grandfather’s name. Sixty foot cruiser, called Shogun.’ Willy scratched his greying temples. ‘A banking family with many interests, most of the money was made trading and hiring jewellery in Victorian times. Phillip bragged the depression was a good time for his family.’ Willy felt his face flush and dropped his eyes. ‘Not that I’m envious, I resent his manner. But Ill admit I’ve dropped his name if it afforded opportunity. Not that I’ll do it again.’

‘We’ll check the boat.’ John said. ‘Tell me though. Did you ever give Danny Sabo a mobile phone?’

‘No, don’t have one myself. I believe people will find me if they want to. Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, just wondered?’ He winked at Jenny. ‘We coppers ask all the hard questions.’ John said.

Jenny started the car while John fiddled with his seat belt.

‘Want to see the boats at the marina?’ He said.

‘Nope, I want to go home.’

‘One more call and that’s all for today, promise.’

‘You really do know how to charm a girl, Evans,’ Jenny said , turned into the traffic and headed toward the bay. She thought about Willy and said. ‘We coppers ask all the hard questions. Is that the best you could do? You disappoint me Johnny boy. And what was that about the phone, Slasher said the ASIO guy,’ she took her hands off the wheel and made quotation signs with her fingers, ‘gave it to him.’

‘I checked the supplier. It’s in Willy’s name. Why would he do that?’

‘Ask him, shall we?’

‘Love to, gotta find him first, though.’

‘Well there is that.’ She said.

The marina staff were less than helpful. Nobody had used the yacht for days. The marina had a security monitor on every pier and jetty, but relied on the owners to secure everything else.

‘We’d better take a look then’ John had enough. ‘Where do we go?’

‘Here,’ the squadron secretary jabbed his finger onto a photocopied directory, ‘you’re not a yachty, then? I can see that now.’ He answered his own question and followed it with. ‘I hope you swim?’

Constable Azzopardi bit her lip. ‘Yeah and I might be back with a team to examine your records later. I hope you’ll have time?’ She said.

They walked to the end of the pier. John looked around the hull. Shogun hardly rose or fell to the light swell, it just road there, the fenders squeaking in protest from the wake of passing boats.

‘You didn’t like the squadron secretary?’ He said.

‘I’d like to take Mr Tighty Whitey shirt and shorts and throw him, and his white Italian boat shoes, in the drink. I hope you swim. I’d say as he hit the water. His type are hard to take. I grew up in Footscray, and blokes like him loved to rub our noses in it at school. No, John, I don’t like the squadron secretary.’

‘Bad luck, because here he comes.’

‘I thought I should tell you, I checked the log and Mr Ryan has booked this boat into the ship builders for a surveyor’s report tomorrow.’ The polished man was panting now. ‘We need twenty four hours notice to cancel. Do you think I should cancel? There are penalties if I do, but bigger ones if the boat doesn’t show up.’

‘It should be okay.’ John said. ‘But tell me, what’s the secret to getting on board?’

‘Here, I’ll do it for you.’

‘Reminds me of Mr Humphries from the old TV show; Are You Being Served, just look at him.’

‘Give him a break, Jen. I don’t like him either, but I want to get this over and go home.’

‘Yeah, but he tightens my spring.’

Tighty Whitey flounced back; he gestured toward the rear deck of the cruiser. ‘Come quickly. The launch and the Moke are missing.’ He had lowered a gang plank and raced onboard. ‘And the alarms are smashed too.’ He paced in circles. ‘What will I do, Gentlefolk...? Shogun has been violated.’

‘Thanks we will take it from here.’ John said. ‘What’s a Moke?’

Tighty stayed near the stern. ‘A small car, old. Made in the seventies and fitted nicely on the launch. Phillip had his shortened, and he was talking about replacing it with a Smart car. But oh, how I do go on.’

‘Oh but you do.’ Jenny pointed to the dock. ‘You can go now. Don’t leave the marina. We’ll want a statement of your movements for the past forty eight hours.’

‘When might this be? I’ve got a champions dinner to organise tonight, the Governor will be here and all. I can’t have you disrupt that.’

‘Should we book a table, John?’

‘Sorry, members only I’m afraid.’ He smiled and shrugged at her, holding his palms out in the manner of a street beggar.

‘That’s okay. Expect us to crash at around eight o’clock then.’ Jenny was sick of him. ‘We’ll be back with an order to seize your records, might be months before they get them back though. It’s only John and me to go through them.’

‘Aghh, now you’ve spoilt the surprise, Jen. I so much wanted to come unannounced.’

Jenny glared at Tighty Whitey. ‘You’d better go mate, before I find something to charge you with.’

He looked at her, his instinct wanted to put her in her place, but he thought better of it. ‘You know where I am if you need me.’ He had spent enough time in the company of a Footscray dialect for one day, thank you.

The cabins were immaculate. Everything was as it should be. John thought about the way Arthur’s place looked yesterday. The neat freak, liked things this way.

‘Nice, I could spend some time on one of these. Do you think he is planning to get away, having her slipped and all?’ Jenny said.

‘I think it’s coincidence.’ John said. ‘See the slime and barnacle build up, she hasn’t been out for a while.’ He flicked through the log book. ‘Over twelve months in fact. Scraping the hull will be maintenance, but I am curious to know if the theft of the launch has been reported.’ They looked around and satisfied, left.

‘Home time beckons.’ Jenny said as she pulled out of the parking lot. ‘I’ve had enough today.’

‘Yeah, but first I’d like to check out his office, or his home. I know it’s a long shot but we haven’t looked there yet. We just took what Willy said and blitzed down here. He might have just gone home.’

‘You’ll buy me a dinner to make up for it. You know that, don’t’ you?’

‘Mario’s, all you can eat it is then, tomorrow after work.’

‘I don’t think so, what say the middle of February, the fourteenth. That’ll give me time to find a sitter, and you time to book somewhere nice. Oh, and get a suit to wear too. One for dancing.’

‘That’s Valentine’s Day?’

‘Yep,’ she battered her eyelids at him, ‘all those William W Ryan romance novels lined up in the glass bookcase at Willy’s place got me thinking. You don’t have a life after work, and neither do I. We could go out on a date.’

‘Are you asking me out, Miss Azzopardi?’

‘I do believe I am, Mr Evans.’

‘It’s settled then. Where will we go, on this pretend date?’

‘Surprise me.’

‘Done.’

Words that never make it into print.

SSometimes the stories we write within the novel don't make it into print, this is one part of many that were sent to the trash can when editing Toby Farrier. I had a lot of fun with both of these characters and hope to be able to draw on them again one day.

Helen Sabo waited as William Wyatt opened the door of the MG for her. It had been a long while since someone had treated her as a lady. He’d been respectful, and listened to what she said. When his hand fell into the middle of her back to guide her to their table it felt warm, and strong, yet his touch was gentle. Yes, she thought, I could get used to this.

The low seats and the high heels of her borrowed shoes conspired with her dress to make it difficult to move out of the MG’s seat. William held his hand out to help. She took it, and felt him hold her weight as she tried her best to be graceful. She saw the slats at eyelevel of the narrow venetian blind by the front door open. It was only slight, but she knew they had an audience. The light distracted her and as she stood, her foot slipped on the kerbing and she fell forward.

Willy caught her. ‘Hey, did you hurt yourself? Is your leg okay?’

It had been a warm night, but the ride home in the open car had chilled her a little. His arms were warm and she rested against him and caught her breath.

‘I’m fine, just not used to being swept off my feet by a handsome man in an English sports car, I guess.’ Did she say that, God she was making a fool of herself and why, she should be mature enough to have dinner with a friend?

‘I haven’t worn heels for a long time. I had better go in, we have an audience.’

‘An audience?’ Willy felt his heart race, he hadn’t sensed this since he was a kid. The thought of being caught out of character was exciting, he liked the adrenalin rush. ‘Who and how?’

‘When I slipped, I saw the blind open and I think my mate, Silvia, is busting to find out how we went.’

‘Is she nosey?’

‘Not nosey, concerned, and she will want to know every detail from tonight, right down to what colour the napkins were.’

‘Details, all of them?’ His mind was racing he wanted to stay out here and talk for longer, but knew she had to go.

‘Yep, Silv does like details.’ She felt his arms around her still and leant back against them. This bloke works out a bit, she thought, his stomach felt hard and flat.

She smiled, ‘It won’t be too hard to tell her what a great night we’ve shared. I had a great time, thank you.’

She wanted to tell him more, but he moved her to one side, she was now looking up at him. He bent forward and kissed her. She felt startled for a second and pulled away.

‘For Silvia.’ He said.

‘For Silvia.’

He knew she agreed, as he felt her hand in his hair pulling him down to her lips. A car went past and tooted its horn, they didn’t care. They broke their clinch, and looked at each other.

‘For Silvia.’ He said, raising an imaginary glass.

‘To Silvia, my best friend.’ She toasted too. ‘Thanks Will, I’d better go now.’

‘I’ll walk you to the door then.’

She put a hand on his chest and kissed his cheek. ‘No, look you’ve been sweet enough. I had a great time tonight thank you.’

‘Me too, I haven’t been out for years, not on a date anyway.’

Helen turned and sauntered toward the front door. He waited leaning against the front fender of the car. He watched every slow step and with each movement his grin grew. Before Helen had her key in the front door, it opened and he saw an arm drag her inside.

The door closed and heard hushed voices, their excitement filled the house. He walked around the back of the car, opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat. He turned the radio on, and easy listening music carried him home.

#editing

#writing

#TobyFarrier

#stories

#romance
#

Writing and research, why is it so difficult to let go?

Over the past week I have been trying to research a South African Hotel that was the playground of the jet set up until the eighties. Although a motor racing fan, my quest was not for an expose on the lives of the many Formula 1 drivers who based themselves at the Kyalami Ranch for the South African Grand Prix, but as it was an International Hotel, the subject of my biography also stayed there.

Kyalami Ranch, from my research was set up by a former bomber captain who had served in WWII and saw the need for a modern hotel, where International Airlines could accommodate their cabin crews when on layover before there next assignments. The fact that it was a short way from the Kyalami race track added to its mystique.

Wandering the manicured grounds in the sixties, sharing luxurious accommodation and the heady mix of exotic people from all over the world must have been similar to attending a party thrown by "The Great Gatsby". Which after the end of apartheid, may be why the hotel has slipped out of the reach of the internet.

I have left a few links for those who are as intrigued as I am.

https://www.mclaren.com/racing/heritage/south-africa-72---40-years-ago-today/

https://www.pinterest.dk/pin/308778118195061902/?nic_v1=1aSylGRAhlWcq4zC45%2FJBNhZ55SofaUEJEYHb2Al56oZi9PXrt1NjslRXfndFWppqH

http://www.thepaddockmagazine.com/rip-kyalami/

https://www.classicdriver.com/en/article/cars/golden-years-kyalami

A Poem from researchers and seafarers too.

And now for something a little older, research of South Africa has drawn me to this poem by Luis de Camoes from 1572 called Lusaids

If you want to know how the masters write, read this:


https://www.gutenberg.org/files/32528/32528-h/32528-h.htm

#writers #poets #sailors #SouthAfrica

Smudge a view of himself

The only thing my father gave me was his name and my mother called me Silas. Most people call me Smudge. Ever since I was a kid my dream was to race on the European Grand Prix circuits, but where does one get the knowledge you need, trapped in a backwater like Crystal Springs.

I was working on my race car, Psycho, a few Fridays ago when I heard a commotion coming from the pub across the road. I had to bend to get a good look through the open door to the bar so I could see what was happening. A shearing team were celebrating their cut out from Yap-Yap Station. One of them had Charlie by the collar and she was kicking and screaming at him to put her down.

Charlie, bloody kid, only eleven years old and seen more of life than someone three times her age. Anyway, she’s up to her old tricks raising money for the car club. I see some of myself in her sometimes, she’s trapped here too. Unloved by her mother and has never known her father, but Charlie loves cars and I let her dream in the same way I did. Sometimes I catch her sitting behind the wheel and I know she’s driving the tracks of the world in her mind. I hear her making gear change noises and it makes me smile. Given half a chance this kid could be someone special. She is special. I have heard the gossip and it might have hurt before, but I am her friend, someone she can talk to.

Had a girl of my own once, Lilly. Prettiest little bundle of precious I ever held, but it wasn’t to be. Wilms Tumour the doctors said, we tried everything, today most kids survive this cancer, not Lil.

Ripped Ruby’s heart out from then our life together was never the same. She found excitement in the arms of a man who used her as a punching bag. I visit every Wednesday, I don’t think she knows me, but I go anyway, hoping she’ll come out of her coma and smile. She doesn’t deserve to live this way, but after the divorce she has no one to make those sort of decisions for her. I guess had we stayed together, I would be agonising over turning off the machines. Oh I tell her everything and I’m sure somewhere in there she hears me, if not it helps me I guess.

Anyway back to the Friday night, its late and I get a call from the Peterborough police, the little bugger has got down there somehow and they want me to pick her up and take her home. I act up a bit, but decide to go anyway. When I take her to her mother’s place, that useless prick Kevin is there. Long story short, the kid comes home with me and stays in Lilly’s room. Terri storms in and accuses me of all sorts of shit. That day there’s an accident and the authorities let Charlie stay with me. It’s nice having a kid to look after, I thought when Lil died and Ruby left, I’d missed my chance.

Now with a bit of giggling about the place, I might just get a chance to reach at least one of my dreams. Oh! and doesn’t that feel so good.

Why reviews give a writer a lift

Today I received an e-mail reviewing my two books Kundela and Gillespie's Gold, and here is what Derek Saunders a former school teacher from Orroroo, South Australia said about them:

I have just finished reading your 2 novels, Kundela and Gillespie’s Gold which Paddo lent to me. Looking forward to reading “Voss”.

I thoroughly enjoyed the read and found the story line captivating, imaginative and certainly held my attention. Detail of the characters’ everyday activities and inter-relationships added to the realism.

I felt I could connect with the settings around Orroroo and district, bringing back many fond memories. I actually got out my Flinders Ranges map to follow your story line.

I thought the scene in the Port Augusta Police Station when DI Cassidy and team were investigating events in Gillespie’s Gold, reminded me of the procedures that were used by DS Vera Stanhope in the “Vera” series- you certainly did your homework, as you obviously did in many areas such as the local geology-which also interested me, reminding me of trips out to Prince Alfred mine and other places.

So hope you keep writing Terry,  and take care.

Best wishes,

Derek.

Books are available from:

Collins Booksellers Sunbury Victoria:

https://www.collinsbookssunbury.com.au/?fbclid=IwAR2hJfqENpZpvCHMc0IuIK85jYsDz4pnl9dcVStnWrVGYOB2p_Z9PLeDTLw

E-Books available on Kindle Books:

https://www.amazon.com.au/KUNDELA-pointing-Justice-Terry-Probert-ebook/dp/B00GRKYV4I

Sometimes your grandchildren surprise you.

Port Fairy Priest a Detective Voss story.

My second Detective Voss  novel seems to have strayed from the original plot frame that I created before going to Port Fairy a couple of years ago. This was the original plan, might have to back to it and change a few names to protect the criminals.

Synopsis:

Voss takes a cottage in Port Fairy to re-assess his life. Likes the ebb and flow of the locals, doesn’t like the tourists much, but appreciates the improvement to the coffee shops and pubs their trade has brought.

He befriends a fisherman who is in his mid-seventies, Leith Pritchard is worried about his grandchildren, they are cutting school and spending most of their time boozing and taking drugs

He has noticed that they have better supply a week after the full moon at first, he thought the drugs were coming in from the fishing fleet, but as most of the captains and crew had children affected, he’d dismissed it.

Voss watches a wedding where the bride’s theme is red and black, Men are dresses in mail box red suits with black top hats, while the bridesmaids a dressed in black with red aprons. The wedding is lavish and Voss learns the couple are recent pop music stars who have decided Port Fairy has the right setting for their big day.

On the day of the wedding while the town watches and waits for the nuptials to begin, Voss and Leith study the coming and going of the florist, the priest and the caterers. Something irks Voss the, sight of the priest seems familiar and he runs a series of old mugshot images through his mind without finding anything. The priest, once a circuit man who came from Melbourne to take communion once a month, has moved up within the church. His visits often resulted in the kids going wild. Port Fairy has changed but people still remember the Uniting Church goers in the town who believed Satan was at work. The Jehovah Witness didn’t have an opinion and the lapsed Christians, agnostics and non-believers are sure the local copper turned a blind eye to the problem.

One time choir boy, Kyle Kipping, late thirties has made it big crossing between heavy and death metal music genres, drugs have dominated the headlines during the last ten years of his career, but it has brought him a new populous of followers. His early career as a pop singer had several number one singles and top selling albums. A career highlight of being promoted as the top billing on Carols in the Domain and Carols by Candlelight crashed during the Enquiry into Child Abuse, when he testified against a popular priest.

After publicly renouncing the Catholic Church on the sleeve of his last album, Songs of Regret, his producers, the recording company has pushed him into filming the wedding to release it in increments as video support for the songs.

Ten years on and, while the band is blasting the new album from several speakers the size of small cars, unknown to the quests in the marquee below at the Rockstar wedding, evil of its own is looking down on them. the priest is found dead, face down in front of a burning cross on top of the local lookout. Thirteen small and charred wooden crosses surround the body.

Speculation about the devil, drugs and God’s Justice whip the town gossips and scaremongers into a frenzy. Rumours surround the death some saying satanic symbols rose from the burning paint and noise from flames sounded like demons squealing as the vehicle burnt. Firefighters reported being unable to quench the flames and suspected an accelerant like napalm. Other reports had the body covered in knives sticking out of every muscle and body part.

What they couldn’t know was that the man’s genitals were removed and stuffed into his mouth before he died. Cause of death asphyxiation.

Along with the wedding guests and gossip columnists, now city journalists and TV reporters descended on the town in helicopters cars and most of the accommodation is booked out to accommodate them. Considering moving to a quieter location Voss answers his door to the Bishop seeking a meeting. Voss tries to push the thought of getting back to investigation to one side until the bishop tell him the priests name. this is the man who set Voss on his career as a copper. The only real father figure in his life.

He takes the case and is bewildered by the details of the crime. Father Geoffrey was due to testify before the Royal Commission into Child Abuse. However, the bishop confirms Voss’s belief his friend was one who spoke up against it, so why would someone do this. Eddie is reluctant to become involved, he has no use of the church for the way they treated him when his business was failing and Donna to thinks it is a bad idea. 

Voss might have to do this on his own.

Gillespie's Gold on Sale next week.

Gillespies Gold goes on to sale November 20th 

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This long awaited follow up novel to Terry L Probert's KUNDELA is now ready for release and early reviewers a extolling Probert's capacity as a storyteller.

Following on from Kundela, this new story is as much a stand alone Aussie action adventure as it is a continuation of the Gillespie family's fortunes as they battle to save their farm from mining giant RAYDOR.

Set in and around Orroroo on the edge of the Flinders Ranges. Haunted by a rhyme his father made him learn as a toddler Joe Gillespie is anxious. Too mean for fatherhood and too drunk to care, Les used cruelty the reinforce his words taking the horror of a few tours of Vietnam for Joe to replace those terrors.

Now forty years after burying the man he despised, Joe is looking at this gold receipt, memorising the first verse of the poem, desperate to remember the rest of it. Joe scours his mind for a hidden meaning, was there gold? Did Les bury it, or was this just one more after death trick to torture his son?

What the beta readers said:

Sonia Doherty, Wordsmiths of Melton

The family connection:

• You showed real relationships where everything didn’t go smoothly, they argued, they had fun as couples and families.
• Demonstrated their love in front of others, and were connected in more than just name.
• All of the friendships made the story interesting and were portrayed as reality.
• Every character had a past that affected their part in the story, some good, some not so good
• The good guys took responsibility for their lives, the bad ones blamed others.
• The bad guys were ones you really didn’t like, so you portrayed them well.

I love the way you brought the various plots together in the police station, by connecting past cases with this current case and how there were good people along the way who wanted to do the right thing. You ended the story with hope for the future

The lessons this story taught:

·         Give people an opportunity to share their story.

·         Forgiveness will help you.

·         Have no regrets

·         here’s always another adventure out there to explore.

It was enjoyable Terry; you’re a good storyteller.

Denise Lang, independent reviewer, Maryborough. Victoria

Morning Terry,

Well I finished your novel at 1.25 am this morning. You continue to amaze me with your amazing ability to consume the reader. I can seriously visualise the story unfolding around me, the detail you incorporate actually makes you feel like you're in the book. Kept guessing right to the end, this work encompasses the Australian way.

On another note, I liked the way you left it open for the next venture. Congratulations on another great literary piece.

Regards,

Denise

Old Story Ideas Brought Back to Life

When I first started to write I bubbled with ideas so much so it drove one of my contemporaries mad. She was struggling to make her novel happen at the time and I being new to a writing group was showing off, saying things like, "just get the words down and worry about the punctuation and sentence structure later."

It may have been of no use to my colleague, a woman who is perfect at creating a sentence and placing a comma, but to me it made sense because my ideas disappear as quickly as they come. However, I did realise that if I were to improve my writing, I would need to expand my author's toolbox and so over the last few years have taken notice of what an active sentence is, where a comma is needed and where to place a full stop. I still get it wrong, but the editing is now less of a chore than it once was.

Getting back to looking through some of my plans from those early days has unearthed some treasures though and by changing the detective’s names, this is one that should make its way into a Detective Voss novel.

The Desk Clerk’s Diary

Mario Modetti keeps secrets, many secrets. He is a desk clerk in an inner city Melbourne Hotel with an International and famous Australian clientele.

Among the regular guests are Pilots, cabin staff, Government officials and Casino high rollers.

Sunday morning a maid enters the room of a Kazakhstani business man to find him and two high price escorts bound and gagged. A Polaroid photo designed to shame is discovered fixed to the mirror with toothpaste.

Detective Inspector  Rose Nguyen is in charge of the investigation, but at every turn she is stymied by bureaucracy.

Chapter Outlines:

1.    The guests are discovered and no-one is talking

2.    DI Rosie Nguyen (Rosie) is on the case

3.    Across town a wholesale jeweler is found at his still locked safe with two bullet holes one in from the side of his chest the other in the back of his head. (was he alone? Where is his wife? Does his mistress know anything)

4.    Another murder in rural Shepparton, this time a known drug dealer with International connections.

5.    Are they random murders or connected.

6.    Journalist Rob Nugent is sniffing around and has picked up a connection

7.    Rosie, frustrated by Nugent pushes him away

8.    The trip to Shepparton for an exhumation finds another unknown body buried below the coffin of a drug boss just below the bottom of the same grave.

A novel length story will need more than eight chapters to wrap up this investigation but it does give me a start. Therefore, when the writing slows down on my current work in progress, I can duck over to this tale and create a much bigger yarn.

Wish me luck.

Bang

I knew my target and knew the time he would arrive. The Awards Presentation would be crowded and people lining the red carpet would work to my advantage.

Television crews were everywhere and it was easy to blend in, my only concern was the occupants of room five, fifteen. From there an easy shot, of four hundred metres and the carpet offered excellent alignment.

Checking the apartment mail boxes revealed Faith and Cindy McLeod lived in 515. I posted Logies tickets to them on a ruse that they had won an in-store competition. The girls would be out of their apartment by noon and not return before midnight. Once inside, all I had to do was wait.

Dressed as one of the hotel's handymen I found the fifth floor and picked the pocket of a housemaid for her pass to gain access, throwing the item into the passage near her trolley. At one o’clock the girls left via the lift at the end of the hall.

Once inside, I took a towel from my bag and laid it on the table. I  assembled the rifle and pulled a cleaner through the barrel. A quick look down the bore and attached the scope. I filled the five shot magazine and put a cartridge in the chamber.

I shifted furniture, to ensure I was comfortable, and opened a small gap in front window. There was nothing between my position and where the target would take his last breath.

I closed the window. At 2.30 the phone rang, I ignored it. By 3.30, I heard people in the hall, but they walked on. I kept the television muted and watched reporters accosting celebrities who were making their way to the ceremony.

At 5.00 pm I opened the window again and took up my position. Flags hung listless from their poles, no wind, that would help. I lined up a couple of guests who were about the same height as Finch.

A stretch Hummer arrived at 5.10 and he and his escort stepped out. I whispered a curse, the limo blocked my view. I cocked the rifle, slid the safety off and waited. The Hummer glided away. He was clear, I squeezed the trigger and watched the bullet take its mark.

My contract fulfilled. I packed the rifle, put the furniture back and sauntered out.

The Orb of Infinity, Second Rewrite

A few months ago my granddaughter India, who is eight and has a wild imagination began writing a Sci-Fi novel with me. For now, the main character whose name just happens to be the same as my co-author, has to save a far off planet. 

Between her inexhaustible love of adjective filled drama and my yarn-spinning skills, we hope to tell you the story of "The Orb of Infinity". 

Here is an excerpt from the first chapter in the second round of drafting.

'Cute and childish won’t work on me Princess, I haven’t time, besides we’ll be back before everyone wakes up.’ Waving her froggy finger she opened the closet, ‘now what have we got for you to wear?’ The envoy tut-tutted, saying, ‘No that just won’t do.’ pulling things out, one after another until a mountain of clothes covered the floor. ‘Stand still, we’ll need to kit you out and, Uniforms Online, are too ugly by far.’

Pointing at the mess in her room, India said. ‘Who’s going to put all of this back?’

‘It’s a little girl’s room, they’re always messy.’

Stamping her foot, India said, ‘Put all of it back now.’ and made a pointing motion toward the empty closet.

Xlora huffed and clicking her fingers, began ducking, stepping out of the way as India’s clothes flew back to where they came from. ‘You’ll just have to come in your pyjamas. We’ll pick up something on the way.’ She took India’s hand and snapped her fingers again. ‘We have to hurry.’

‘Why?’

‘Like I told you Princess.’ There was a huff of frustration to Xlora’s tone, ‘It is written and we have a planet to save.’ 

COPYRIGHT CHANGES THAT MAY AFFECT YOU

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It's Been a While Since My Last Post

The Orb of Infinity

A few months back my granddaughter and I had an idea for a book that we should write together. India is eight years old and by her ninth birthday would like to have finished a 30,000 word manuscript where a character with her name is the hero. 

Here is just a taste and part of a rough first draft.

Chapter One

The soft green glow from the digits of clock on India’s bedside table had only blinked three am when a flash of silver and blue light filled the room. She woke to the feel of someone blowing softly on her cheek, stoking her hair and the soulful voice urging her to wake up.

‘Princess, it is written that you are the chosen one and you must come at once.’ A person no bigger than India’s arm was bending over her, repeating the plea.

Believing it to be a dream India tried pulled the bedclothes over her head and follow these visions until morning. The covers as if pulled by an invisible thread, rolled back.

Having gained India’s attention, she spoke, ‘My name is Xlora, special envoy to the Prime Minister of Astranada,’ then standing back, bowed. ‘and ten centuries ago it was written that one would come and free our people from the tyranny of Rahn.’ Xlora took her gloves off and hoping India would not fall back into sleep, slapped them against her thigh ‘You Princess India, are the chosen one and just as the ancients decreed. You will come.’

India started shaking, and fearing another nightmare sat on the edge of the bed. Her feet feeling for her slippers. Xlora used her frog like index finger and thumb to prise India’s eyes open, it was no use as India slipped back into a slumber. Taking a vial from the pouch on her belt and waved it under the girl’s nose. India looked around as an aura of calm washed over her.

She looked at the voice’s owner, a person no taller than her favourite doll was standing in front of her. Xlora wore a silver-blue flying jacket, an airman’s helmet, leather pants and flying boots with stiletto heels. Everything matching, only her navy-blue cravat broke the monotony of colour. Even her skin was silvery, her eyes and lips matched the cravat.

‘Go away, I have school tomorrow.’

‘You’ll have time for school later, tonight we have a planet to save.’

India reached for the light switch. ‘I’d better tell Mum.’

Xlora’s hand stopped her. ‘We have no time for that, quick we must go now.’

‘We’ll be back before they all wake up.’ She opened the closet, ‘now what have we got for you to wear?’ The envoy tut-tutted, saying, ‘No that just won’t do.’ pulling things out, one after another until a mountain of clothes covered the floor. ‘Stand still, we’ll need to kit you out and, Uniforms On-line won’t cut it.’

Pointing to the mess in her room, India said. ‘Who’s going to put all of this back?’

‘It’s a little girl’s room, they’re always messy.’

‘Put all of it back now.’ She managed through a yawn.

Clicking her fingers Xlora huffed, ducking and stepping out of the way as India’s clothes flew back to where they came from.

‘You’ll just have to come in your pyjamas. We’ll have to pick up something on the way.’ She took India’s hand and snapped her fingers again. ‘We have to hurry.’ And with that, she started rubbing the screen on India’s iPhone until a whirlpool appeared, took India’s hand and stepped into the swirling black hole of nothingness engulfing the room.