I started this book not long after writing Kundela and have all the chapter plans and plots in place. However I lost my folder with all of the character profiles etc. After deciding I can no longer keep hunting back through the manuscript for small details, I started printing out new sheets. The warm smells and the whirring of the printer had me searching the 'My Documents' folder and I found a header sheet for the binder spine of lost book. A quick search of the bookcase now has found the folder hiding in plain view.
So now I have a plan to bring this story back on track. It's not that I forgot the theme just the detail. Today I only managed thirteen hundred words, but now having found my compass I'm confident the words will fly next week.
Tomorrow I'll post a character sheet of one of the more evil guys in the story.
Cheers,
Terry
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.
Saturday 9 November 2013
Tuesday 8 October 2013
Save Mona
This week a friend of mine, Jody D’Arcy, started a
new website and named it Save Mona. Her ambition is to save Africa’s rhinos
from extinction. I’m sure you will agree this is an honourable goal, a huge
challenge, and one we can all take part in.
I’m asking for a moment of your time to make this
possible, and with only a couple of clicks of your mouse we can do great things.
Start now with these three simple tasks.
1. By sharing this e-mail with your contacts and
friends you can empower the world to place pressure on the relevant authorities
to protect these animals from useless slaughter.
2. Click on this link to learn more about why the
rhino is endangered.
Save Mona: http://savemona.org
3. Add your name and comments to the petition to the
Chinese Government
I’m sure that you want to know that your grand
children will be able to watch these and other endangered animal species thrive
in their natural habitat. If you can help by sharing, then more power to your
pen.
If you petition the Chinese Government, you have
moved the possibility of saving these animals closer, and you can feel good
about it.
If you follow and post you comments on the Save
Mona website it is almost like being in the field, you are giving the species
life. What greater gift is there to give?
Please remember to share with your friends and
forward to your contacts.
Ps: Don’t
forget your Facebook and Twitter accounts.
Thank You for your interest,
Yours sincerely,
Terry L Probert
Friday 30 August 2013
Feral Utes and Borrowed Boots - Last rewrite
With help from the Wordsmith's in my writing group this is my last posting of my rewriting of this story. I will probably edit and work it again a few times before submitting as an entry in competitions.
In this final draft I have worked on making the dialogue flow better and tryng to keep the action true to the age of the protagonists. Read on and let me know if you like Sarah, Ally, Matt, and Robbo. Even give me an insight into your thoughts about this foursome and their future relationships.
Terry
Feral Utes and Borrowed Boots 1495 words
In this final draft I have worked on making the dialogue flow better and tryng to keep the action true to the age of the protagonists. Read on and let me know if you like Sarah, Ally, Matt, and Robbo. Even give me an insight into your thoughts about this foursome and their future relationships.
Terry
Feral Utes and Borrowed Boots 1495 words
The
wheel wrenched in her hands and Sarah felt the front of the Toyota dip. Metal
screeched against the road, and she caught a glimpse of the front wheel
spearing off into the grass. A battle for control began as Jake’s old work truck
slewed onto the verge. A tap of the brakes and then a desperate pump of the
pedal did nothing, it went to the floor. The handbrake didn’t work, but she
tugged on it anyway. Jake had tormented her from when they married until he
moved out six months ago, and today she’d hoped for a new start without him. Yet
it seemed he controlled her again. Would she never be free?
It
wasn’t her first choice to drive to the other side of the city to work, but all
other job applications had failed. Now with a rusted out old bomb collapsed on
the side of the road, she had missed this opportunity too. Did he have to take
everything? Her car, her phone, her money, her dignity. Pride would not allow
her to ask her parents for help; ‘he’s no good.’ they’d told her when she ran
off with him five years ago.
Cars
swept past, no one stopped to help. A carload of louts hung out the windows and
jeered, laughing at her as they flew past. She was late, and without a phone
she couldn’t let work know she’d broken down. The highway roared with traffic,
and when trucks flashed by the pressure of their slipstreams almost blew her
over. Flagging them down had no effect. It started to rain and she decided to wait
in the car until it stopped.
The
drizzle eased, and she tried again. Two B-double semi trailers buzzed past nose
to tail. Their wheels whipped slush into a fine mist and drenched her. Spotting
her reflection in the glass, Sarah broke down. Her borrowed suit looked ruined,
and her hair a mess. Clay had stuck to the heels of her boots. She tried to
remove it by rubbing them together, but it only smeared. She yanked the door
open, slumped into the seat, and slammed it shut. What could she do? Sarah
rested her head and arms on the steering wheel, and her energy drained. Where
was Prince Charming when she needed him? Sarah drifted into misery.
The
wheel thumped onto the tray, she heard the sound, but it didn’t register.
‘Hello
Miss.’ the voice was male. ‘Are you okay?’
She
turned to see where it was coming from. ‘Not really, I’ve got a bit of car
trouble.'
‘Yeah,
I can see that. I was working the tractor at the other end of the field when I
saw you stopped here. I guessed you didn’t have a phone when I saw you trying
to flag someone down.
‘Supposed
to be first day at work, but now I’ve lost it.’ She said.
‘My
name’s Matt by the way.’
‘Sorry,’
she shook her head. ‘Hello Matt, I’m Sarah.’
‘Want
to call them?’ He held out his phone.
‘No
thanks, it’s gone.’ Her shoulders drooped. ‘All I had to do was get there on
time.’
‘Look,
I’ve called my mate Robbo, he will come out and tow this to his workshop.’ He
pointed to the buildings about a mile away. ‘My wife and I live over there, I’ve
just called her. She said to come up and dry off in the kitchen. Maybe you can
call someone, or if you want to wait until she does the school run, Ally can
drive to wherever you want to go.’
‘Thanks’.
Sarah said. Prince Charming he might be, but not hers. He had a wife and kids
too, but she was glad for his offer.
The
farmhouse was warm and homey. With the introductions over Matt kissed Ally and went
back to the tractor.
‘Here’s
a couple of towels.’ Ally said. ‘Bathroom’s the third door on your right. Pass
me your jacket and I’ll give it a brush, it’ll dry on the chair by the fire.’
‘Thanks.
I thought I’d be stuck there for hours, either that or I’d have to try and walk
back to town.’
‘Not
easy in those heels.’
‘No,
and I don’t know how I’m going to tell Jo about her suit, I borrowed this
outfit for the job.’
‘Go
and get yourself cleaned up and I’ll put some coffee on. Anyway, what type of
job was it?’ Ally asked.
‘Oh,
bookkeeper in Richmond, but it’s history now.’
Sarah
looked at the woman in the mirror and wondered if she’d ever see her smile
again. The water felt good, and she held her hands in the bowl soaking up the
heat. The room was bright and airy. Toys littered the shelf around the bath and
the home had a welcoming feel. She sensed that Matt and Ally had made the place
special, and she envied their position.
Sarah
combed her hair with her fingers and did her best to tidy it. ‘It’ll have to
do.’ She smoothed her skirt, and followed the aroma of coffee and warm scones
back to the kitchen.
‘You
look better.’ Ally smiled and motioned for Sarah to sit at the bench. ‘Do you
mind? I have to get this stew on for dinner. It’s not very adventurous but it’s
what Matt likes, and the kids will eat it too.’
‘You’re
very kind, thanks.’ She cupped her hands around her coffee and looked over the
rim to the neat heaps of chopped vegetables. She couldn’t remember the last time
she’d cooked for more than one.
‘Not
at all, I’m glad of the company. With all the jobs around the farm, I find it
hard to get out, other than seeing some of the parents at school. Oh, and I see
our friends at football on the weekends. But some girl company during the week
is good.’
A
friendship seeded, and the day disappeared. At 2.30 they were in Ally’s four
wheel drive and heading into town to pick up the children from school.
‘What
are you going to do now? Ally asked.
‘I
don’t know. This job was it, and now it’s gone. I’ll go back into the grinder
again I guess and try to find something, again.’
‘Like
what?’
‘I
don’t know.’ Sarah said. ‘You know I used to be so confident, I ran the office in
my family’s crash repairs where I worked until I got married. We moved here and
everything went wrong. I thought I was marrying the man of my dreams. I never expected
it to turn into a nightmare. This is probably for the best, I don’t think I
could work inside that glass box in the city anyway.’
Ally
said nothing more about the job. Too soon they were in the Industrial area and parked
in front of Robbo’s workshop.
‘I’ll
go in and get him. His place is full of girly calendars and blokes with one
track minds. You don’t have to put up with anymore grief today?’
An
age passed as she sat there, and occasionally she noticed a heavy thumb and
forefinger prise the venetian blinds apart. It unsettled her, and Sarah knew
they had to be talking about her, about how hopeless she was.
Ally
and a man in his thirties emerged from the darkness. His hands slapped at the dust
on the front of his jeans, and his tee shirt showed that he worked out. It was
strange, but he was the only panel shop bloke she’d seen with polished boots.
His dark hair neatly cropped and had a hint of curl. In this light he looked a
bit like Hugh Jackman and unlike any of the crashies she’d ever met before. Sarah
slid out of her seat to meet him.
‘Hello
I’m Robbo, Ally’s brother.’ He said extending his right hand, she took it. His
grip was firm, and yet his touch was warm and gentle. ‘I can’t do much with
your car today, in fact it’s probably better off going to the wreckers, for
what you’d spend on fixing it.’
‘That
good eh?’
‘Sorry.’
He screwed his face up, and then smiled. ‘Ally tells me you’re a bookkeeper.’
Sarah
liked the way his nose wrinkled at the bridge when he grinned. ‘Yeah, but what’s
that got to do with fixing my car? Are you offering me a job?’
‘Maybe,
I’m up to my ears in it. Bookkeeping I mean, and I’ve been looking for someone
to manage it for a while now. I just haven’t advertised. Anyway, could you be tempted?
Sarah
felt her shoulders lift and her posture straighten. She suppressed a smile. ‘When
would I start?’
‘I’m going home soon.
I can drop you off, and pick you up at seven thirty tomorrow morning. How’s that
for a deal?’
Sarah looked down, don’t be hasty make him wait a bit. A minute passed, she held her hand
out... He took it. ‘Deal.’ She said.
Sunday 18 August 2013
Feral Utes and Borrowed Boots (even the title has had a rewrite)
Over the past few days I have reworked this story again to address a few of the comments of my friends in the writing group.
Although I have worked a bit on the punctuation I need to put in more work there. It is a weakness and I'll read it aloud in front of a mirror to see if I can perfect it.
Points I tried to address:
Although I have worked a bit on the punctuation I need to put in more work there. It is a weakness and I'll read it aloud in front of a mirror to see if I can perfect it.
Points I tried to address:
- Relevance of the title to the story
- Kitchen aromas
- Address tense changes
- Introducing Matt
- Simplifying the language
- Correct the spelling
Feral Utes and Borrowed Boots 1495 words
The
wheel wrenched in her hands, and Sarah felt the front of the Toyota dip. Metal
screeched against the road, and she caught a glimpse of the front wheel
spearing off into the grass. A battle for control began as Jake’s old work truck
slewed onto the verge. A tap of the brakes and then a desperate pump of the
pedal did nothing, it went to the floor. The handbrake didn’t work, but she
tugged on it anyway. Jake had tormented her from when they married until he
moved out six months ago, and today she’d hoped for a new start without him. Yet
it seemed he controlled her again. Would she never be free?
It
wasn’t her first choice to drive to the other side of the city to work, but all
other job applications had failed. Now with a rusted out old bomb collapsed on
the side of the road, she had missed this opportunity too. Did he have to take
everything? Her car, her phone, her money, her dignity. Pride would not allow
her to ask her parents for help; ‘he’s no good.’ they’d told her when she ran
off with him five years ago.
Cars
swept past, no one stopped to help. A carload of louts hung out the windows and
jeered, laughing at her as they flew past. She was late, and without a phone
she couldn’t let work know she’d broken down. The highway roared with traffic,
and when trucks flashed by the pressure of their slipstreams almost blew her
over. Flagging them down had no effect. It started to rain and she decided to wait
in the car until it stopped.
The
drizzle eased, and she tried again. Two B-double semi trailers buzzed past nose
to tail. Their wheels whipped slush into a fine mist and drenched her. Spotting
her reflection in the glass, Sarah broke down. Her borrowed suit looked ruined,
and her hair a mess. Clay had stuck to the heels of her boots. She tried to
remove it by rubbing them together, but it only smeared. She yanked the door
open, slumped into the seat, and slammed the door. What could she do? Sarah
rested her head and arms on the steering wheel, and her energy drained away.
Where was Prince Charming when she needed him? Sarah drifted into misery.
The
wheel thumped onto the tray, she heard the sound, but it didn’t register.
‘Hello
Miss.’ it was a male voice. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Not
really, I’ve got a bit of car trouble.' She said, turning to see where it was
coming from.
‘Yeah,
I can see that. I was working the tractor at the other end of the field, when I
saw you stopped here. I thought you couldn’t have had a phone when you out in
the rain. Name’s Matt by the way.’
‘My
first day at work, but it’s gone now.’ She said. ‘Sorry, hello Matt, I’m
Sarah.’
‘Do
you want to call them?’ He held out his phone.
‘No
thanks, it’s gone. All I had to do was get there on time.’
‘I’ve
given my mate Robbo a call, one of his blokes will come out and get this lot off
the road.’ He pointed to the buildings about a mile away. ‘My wife and I live
in the house over there, I’ve just called her. She said you should come up and
dry off in the kitchen. Maybe you can call someone, or if you want to wait
until she does the school run, Ally can drive to wherever you want to go.’
‘Thanks’.
Sarah said. Prince Charming he might be, but not hers. He had a wife and kids
too, but she was glad for his offer.
The
farmhouse was warm and homey. With the introductions over Matt kissed Ally and went
back to the tractor.
‘Here’s
a couple of towels. Bathroom’s the third door on your right. If you pass me
your jacket, I’ll give it a brush and hang over the chair by the fire.’
‘Thanks.
I thought I’d be stuck there for hours, either that or I’d have to try and walk
back to town.’
‘Not
easy in those heels.’
‘No,
and I don’t know how I’m going to tell Jo about her suit, I borrowed this
outfit for the job.’
‘Go
and get yourself cleaned up and I’ll put some coffee on. Anyway, what type of
job was it?’ Ally asked.
‘Oh,
bookkeeper in Richmond, but it’s history now.’
Sarah
looked at the woman in the mirror and wondered if she’d ever see her smile
again. The warm water felt good, and she held her hands in the bowl soaking up the
heat. The bathroom was bright and airy. Toys littered the shelf around the bath
and the home had a welcoming feel. She could sense that Matt and Ally had made
the place special, and she envied their position.
Sarah
combed her hair with her fingers and did her best to tidy it. ‘It’ll have to
do.’ She smoothed her skirt, and followed the aroma of coffee and warm scones
back to the kitchen.
‘You
look better.’ Ally smiled and motioned for Sarah to sit at the bench. ‘Do you
mind? I have to get this stew on for dinner. Not very adventurous cooking, but
it’s what Matt likes, and the kids will eat it too.’
‘You’re
very kind, thanks.’ Steam rose from the cups on the counter. Sarah looked over
the rim of her coffee to the coloured heaps of chopped vegetables. She couldn’t
remember the last time she’d cooked for more than one.
‘Not
at all, I’m glad of the company. With all the jobs around the farm, I find it
hard to get out, other than seeing some of the parents at school. Oh, and I see
our friends at football on the weekends. But some girl company during the week
is good.’
A
friendship seeded, and the day disappeared. At 2.30 they were in Ally’s four
wheel drive and heading into town to pick up the children from school.
‘What
are you going to do now? Ally asked.
‘I
don’t know, this job was it, and now it’s gone. I’ll go back into the grinder
again I guess and try to find something again.’
‘Like
what?’
‘I
don’t know.’ Sarah said. ‘You know I used to be so confident, I ran the office in
my family’s crash repairs where I worked until we got married. We moved here
and everything went wrong. I thought I was marrying the man of my dreams. I never
expected it to be a nightmare. This is probably for the best, I don’t think I
could work inside a glass box in the city anyway.’
Ally
said nothing more about the job. Too soon they were in the Industrial area and parked
in front of Robbo’s workshop.
‘I’ll
go in and get him. His place is full of girly calendars and blokes with one
track minds. You don’t have to put up with anymore of that kind of grief today?’
An
age passed as she sat there, and occasionally she noticed a heavy thumb and
forefinger prise the venetian blinds apart. It unsettled her, and Sarah knew
they had to be talking about her, about how hopeless she was.
Ally
and a man in his thirties emerged from the darkness. His hands slapped at the dust
on the front of his jeans, and his tee shirt showed that he worked out. It was
strange, but he was the only bloke who worked in a panel shop she’d ever seen
with polished work boots. His neatly cropped hair was dark, and she thought he looked
a bit like Hugh Jackman in the face. He was unlike any of the panel beaters
she’d ever met before, and Sarah slid out of her seat to meet him.
‘Hello
I’m Robbo, Ally’s brother.’ He said extending his right hand, she took it. His grip
was firm and warm, and yet his touch was gentle. ‘I can’t do much with your car
today, in fact it’s probably better off going to the wreckers, for what you’d
spend on fixing it.’
‘That
good eh?’
‘Sorry.’
He screwed his face up, and then smiled. ‘Ally tells me you’re a bookkeeper.’
Sarah
liked the way his nose wrinkled at the bridge when he grinned. ‘Yeah, but what’s
that got to do with fixing my car? Are you offering me a job?’
‘Maybe,
I’m up to my ears in it. Bookkeeping I mean, and I’ve been looking for someone
to manage it for a while now. I just haven’t advertised. Anyway, could you be tempted?
Sarah
twisted a length of hair around her fingers and smiled. ‘When can I start?’
‘I’m about to go home, I can drop you off now and pick
you up at seven thirty tomorrow morning. Do we have a deal?’
Sarah put her hand out, he took it. ‘Deal.’
Thursday 25 July 2013
How writing groups can help to improve your writing.
Yesterday I was welcomed back to my local writing group and it was good to get back among a group of friends with like minded goals. Wordsmiths of Melton is a critiquing group, and each member is given the opportunity to put forward a short story, poem, or a chapter from a longer work for comment and advice.
It was great to see how their novels had developed while I was away. I was pleased to be able to catch up with the adventures of the settlers in Les's novel: Redemption. this is science fantasy about Earth's colonisation of the planet Arena. Caitlin has progressed well with her novel: The Adventures of Incredible Man. Her writing takes me back to the numerous comics I had as a kid. Back then I loved reading about Superman and the many other heroes that spawned in the pre television era.
Writing groups are usually small, about six to ten participants and everyone is at different stages of writing and have various skill strengths. That variation propels us forward.
To demonstrate how our group works, I thought that I would post the first draft of the story I put up for critique this week. Bearing in mind this was the very first hastily written draft I threw it into the mix to attract as many comments as I could.
Over the next few weeks you will be able to watch the story develop as I will re-draft the piece. Guided by my colleagues comments I hope to demonstrate how their critiques have helped to improve the piece:
Here is the first rough draft of the story I offered for critique.
Wordsmith's general comments:
Things to work on:
During the next couple of weeks I will rewrite the piece and put it before the group again to see how they view it a second time. I will keep you posted with the developments.
It was great to see how their novels had developed while I was away. I was pleased to be able to catch up with the adventures of the settlers in Les's novel: Redemption. this is science fantasy about Earth's colonisation of the planet Arena. Caitlin has progressed well with her novel: The Adventures of Incredible Man. Her writing takes me back to the numerous comics I had as a kid. Back then I loved reading about Superman and the many other heroes that spawned in the pre television era.
Writing groups are usually small, about six to ten participants and everyone is at different stages of writing and have various skill strengths. That variation propels us forward.
To demonstrate how our group works, I thought that I would post the first draft of the story I put up for critique this week. Bearing in mind this was the very first hastily written draft I threw it into the mix to attract as many comments as I could.
Over the next few weeks you will be able to watch the story develop as I will re-draft the piece. Guided by my colleagues comments I hope to demonstrate how their critiques have helped to improve the piece:
Here is the first rough draft of the story I offered for critique.
Work boots and feral utes
The wheel wrenched in her hands and Sarah felt the
front of the Falcon dip. Metal screeched against the road and she caught a
glimpse of the front wheel spearing off into the grass. A battle for control
began as Jake’s old work ute slewed onto the verge. A tap of the brakes and
then a desperate pump of the pedal did nothing it went to the floor. The
handbrake didn’t work but she tugged on it anyway, nothing. Jake had tormented
her from the time they married and finally today hope of a new start without
him, and yet it seemed he controlled her again. Would she never be free?
A new beginning, all
she had to do was get to the interview on time. Well that’s what the lady on
reception said anyway. It wasn’t her first choice to drive to the other side of
the city to work but other job applications had failed. Now with a rusted
bombed out old ute collapsed on the side of the road she had missed this
opportunity as well. Did he have to take everything? Her car, her phone, her
money, her dignity. She couldn’t ask her parents, they told her he was no good
when she ran off with him three years ago.
Cars swept past, no one
stopping to help. A carload of louts jeered as they flew past at speed. She was
late and without a phone she had no method of letting them know she’d broken
down. The highway roared with traffic and as trucks flashed by their wind
nearly blew her over. Waving them down had no effect and now it started to
rain. Sarah would sit in the car and wait it out before trying to hail someone
down again.
The drizzle subsided
and she tried again. Two B-double semi trailers buzzed past, nose to tail their
wheels whipping slush into a fine mist, drenching her. Catching a glimpse of
her image in the window Sarah broke down. Her lovely suit looked ruined, shoes
covered in mud and her hair a mess. She yanked the door open breaking a nail and
slumped into the seat, slamming the door in anger. What could she do? She
rested her head and arms on the steering wheel, her energy drained away.
‘Hello Miss.’ a male
voice said. ‘Are you okay?’
Sarah had drifted off.
Turning to see where the voice was coming from she noticed his eyes. ‘Not
really, I’ve got a bit of car trouble.’
‘Yeah, I can see that.’
The wheel landed with a thump on the ute’s tray. ‘I was working the other end
of the paddock when I saw you parked here. I reckoned you couldn’t have a phone
when you were out in the rain. Name’s Matt by the way.’
‘My first day at work, but
I reckon that’s gone now.’ She said. ‘Sorry, hello Matt, I’m Sarah.’
‘Look I’ve given my
mate Robbo a call and one of his blokes will come out in the truck and get this
off the road. Ally, my wife and I live in the house over there. Come on, I
called her on the CB and she said you should come up and dry off in the kitchen.
Then she’ll drive you to where you want to go when she does the school run.’
Bummer, a wife and kids
too, the thought rumbled around in Sarah’s mind, but she was glad of his offer.
‘Thanks’. She said.
‘What type of job were
you going to?’ Ally asked as they drove to the workshop where the ute was
waiting.
‘Oh a only bookkeeping
job in Richmond, but it will be well gone by now.’
Ally didn’t say
anything more about the job, and they nattered about nothing and everything as the
car wound through the Industrial area to where the workshop was.
‘I’ll go in and bring
him out. His place is full of leery calendars and blokes with one track minds,
and I reckon you could do without any more of that today?’
It seemed like an age
then from the darkness Sarah saw Ally walk out accompanied by a man in his
thirties, jeans, white muscle tee shirt and steel capped boots. His hair neatly
cropped and a bit like Hugh Jackman in the face she thought. Nothing like any
of the mechanics she’d met before.
‘I’m Robbo Ally’s
brother, I can’t do much with your car today, in fact it’s probably better off
going to the wreckers for what you’d spend on fixing it.’
‘That good eh?’
‘Sorry, Ally tells me
you’ve missed your first day at work and you’re a book keeper.’
‘Yeah but I don’t
understand.’
‘You could help me out.
I’m up to my ears in it. Bookkeeping I mean, and I’ve been looking for someone
to keep it up for a while now. I just haven’t advertised. Anyway, would you be
interested?
Robbo waited on her
answer.Wordsmith's general comments:
Things to work on:
- Improve the grammar with sentence structure
- Title is great but requires capitals
- Was she going for an interview or a job? Requires an explanation in the writing.
- What was it she couldn't ask her parents for?
- The CB why wouldn't he use a phone?
- Ally needs to be somewhere, the reader can get confused here.
- It would be unlikely for some one in this situation to 'drop off' , suggest a rework of the sentence.
- Sarah says 'Yeah but I don't understand?' what is it she doesn't understand. needs expanding.
- How does she now they are steel capped boots.
- The ending is unresolved.
- Realistic dialogue, I liked it a lot
- This has all of the elemnts of a romance except there is not enough of it.
- Overall I liked the story, I think you are a bit of a romantic at heart.
- I really enjoyed the fell of the story, the pain,despair hopelessness, making wrong life choices. The way it kicks you when you're down, then gives you a second chance.
- I liked the concept of the story, the thought f everything going wrong and then hope revealing itself. The opening paragraph got me in.
- You could feel her frustration in the opening, being controlled and hemmed in. The characters portrayed good country people who are friendly and helpful so they came across as real. The story moved welladding variety to each setting and person.
- Great opening paragraph. You introduce character and internal conflict against a background of external conflict. Lots of great verbs and a real sense of actiongoing on here.
During the next couple of weeks I will rewrite the piece and put it before the group again to see how they view it a second time. I will keep you posted with the developments.
Friday 19 July 2013
Toby Farrier helps Harry Potter celebrate his birthday
A new initiative by Caitlin Henderson of the Wordsmiths of Melton is campaigning to hold a write-in at the new Melton Library on Wednesday 31st of July. As this coincides with Harry Potter's birthday it should encourage all aspiring novelists and story tellers to attend. Caitlin has posted the event on Facebook and the numbers of interested writers are growing.
These sessions will be open to everyone and are not part of the formalised Wordsmith meetings, more a coming together of like minded people to share a space to let their creative energies flow. At present we are planning to meet at the library at 9.00 am laptops in hand and write solidly through until 5.00 pm. It is important you bring everything you will need for the day. Breaks will be scheduled for morning tea and lunch.
It is hoped this will create a motivational atmosphere and everyone is encouraged to discuss and share the things that are troubling them about their writing. (Ending everyone's writing block.)
This may be the push I need to finish the re-writes of Toby Farrier.
We anticipate that everyone who participants should derive a sense of fellowship and achievement by the end of the day.
Heres the link to the event: http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/events/1397559150460544/1397644353785357/?notif_t=plan_mall_activity
These sessions will be open to everyone and are not part of the formalised Wordsmith meetings, more a coming together of like minded people to share a space to let their creative energies flow. At present we are planning to meet at the library at 9.00 am laptops in hand and write solidly through until 5.00 pm. It is important you bring everything you will need for the day. Breaks will be scheduled for morning tea and lunch.
It is hoped this will create a motivational atmosphere and everyone is encouraged to discuss and share the things that are troubling them about their writing. (Ending everyone's writing block.)
This may be the push I need to finish the re-writes of Toby Farrier.
We anticipate that everyone who participants should derive a sense of fellowship and achievement by the end of the day.
Heres the link to the event: http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/events/1397559150460544/1397644353785357/?notif_t=plan_mall_activity
Wednesday 17 July 2013
The knife, the ear, and the bar
The barman’s finger
traced invisible circles around Thursday’s date printed on the front of today’s
paper. He stared at the back of the tourist studying the notice board. A man of
average height, in his mid to late sixties, he walked with limp and a ragged
scar ran down his cheek. Sam had seen many tourists in his bar, but this one
had an air of mystery about him and it gave Sam the shivers.
‘What’s
with the ear?’ the drawl sounded American but Sam couldn’t be sure.
‘It’s from
one of Joe Gillespie’s heifers, somebody shot and clay-panned it out near
Pauper’s Corner about six months ago.’
‘Where?’
the stranger asked, tapping the section map.
Sam
left the bar and stood in front of the yellowing chart, he swept his hand along
the Hammond road. ‘This is all Joe’s country here.’ He studied the roads for a
while and jabbed his finger at the intersection of two tracks. ‘And this is
Pauper’s Corner.’
‘Clay-panned
eh?’ The tourist said taking a long look at the map. He drained his glass, and
paid Sam for cigarettes. He turned on his heel, led his shadow into the street,
and disappeared into the early afternoon.
Sam, on his own again
leaned on his elbow and flipped the paper over to the sports pages, but his
mind was elsewhere. He gazed at the pocketknife pinning the cow’s ear to the
frame of the notice board and his mind drifted to the night months ago when Joe
stabbed it there.
It was
about six o’clock on a Friday, he remembered because it was happy hour and all
of the regulars had made it in for their free drinks. The place was full, old
Wally’s shearing team had been in since three and were becoming rowdy.
He’d
just put a schooner in front of Spider when he heard a bull bar crash into the
high kerb in front of the Hotel. Through the open door, he saw the driver’s
door flick open. Joe Gillespie he was out of his seat before the Toyota stopped
shuddering. His face glowed red with anger, the eyes wide and piercing. It only
took Joe two steps to lunge from the four-wheel drive and breast the bar.
Holding
the heifer’s lifeless head by the ear, he slapped it onto the bar in front of
Sam. Gunk splattered those closest and the bar hushed with amazement, Joe had
their attention.
‘This
is the third cow I’ve lost in twelve months and someone in here probably knows
the thieving pricks who’ve been taking them. Well get the message out people, I
have had a gut full and if anybody takes another one it will be their head I
put on the bar.’
He drew
a pocketknife from the pouch on his belt and sliced off the ear. The identity
tag stayed with it. Showing the room, he said. ‘This is a reminder to your
mates to leave my stock alone.’
He held
the ear against the white frame and slammed the blade through the ear splitting
soft timber. Joe studied the crowd, holding eye contact with everyone in the
room when a lone voice broke the silence.
‘Ease
up Grandad. It’s just a bloody cow for Christ sakes.’ The ginger headed young
roustabout giggled. A gutful booze to fuelled his courage.
Joe’s
grabbed him by the throat, his right hand lifting the smartarse from his stool.
Joe dropped him backside first on top of the wet bar. The crowd had stepped further
away when Joe pressed his nose on that of the offender and whispered. ‘But you
see fella, this was no ordinary cow...It was my cow.’
Sam smiled at the theatre
of his memory and returned to the paper.
Thursday 6 June 2013
Toby Farrier catches the bus
I thought it was time to review my progress with this story and have re-posted a little piece I wrote before the NaNoWriMo competition last year. I guess it sets up the thought process that goes into my writing before I build the character outlines and make up a storyboard of the chapters. Since I last posted it I have done some editing to keep it in line with the individuals as they have come to life in the novel.
I know all writers use different methods to keep focus and I have found this a great tool to use.
Merlene Fawdrey is the genius behind this and much of my story planning because as I getting to the end of KUNDELA she asked could I hear the characters calling 'are we there yet' and that little question produced the spark that caused this planning piece.
If anyone is thinking about writing and the processes to follow Merlene has some great writing tips on her Blog: http://merlenefawdry.blogspot.com.au/
TOBY FARRIER: The riders on the Character Bus
I know all writers use different methods to keep focus and I have found this a great tool to use.
Merlene Fawdrey is the genius behind this and much of my story planning because as I getting to the end of KUNDELA she asked could I hear the characters calling 'are we there yet' and that little question produced the spark that caused this planning piece.
If anyone is thinking about writing and the processes to follow Merlene has some great writing tips on her Blog: http://merlenefawdry.blogspot.com.au/
I
rolled on the broad rimmed steering wheel and dabbed the brake pedal. The
hazard lights began flashing and the bus drifted to a stop at the kerb. The
gasp of air expelling from the brakes startled my first passenger. I knew he
would be the main character of this story, It was easy to see he had a cocky
manner by the way he leaned against the post of the shelter, he was lean and
wearing those blasted skinny leg jeans, a white muscle tee shirt and scruffy
white sandshoes. Why kids have to have blonde tipped hair I’ll never know, but this
kid had spiky black hair and tipped this way. I thought it was strange that he
didn’t wear shades; instead his chosen eyewear was a pair of round gold rimmed
and prescription with a light blue tint. I remembered seeing one of the Bee
Gees wearing something similar years ago.
Time to get him on board.
‘G’day mate I’m Terry L Probert, spinner
of yarns, and for this story I’m the bus driver. Are you okay with that?’ I
said to this kid as he climbed aboard. ‘Tell me a bit about yourself and as we
pick up the other characters in your story, you can introduce them to our
readers. Do you think you can manage that?’
‘Year sure, I can it happen. My
name’s Toby Farrier and I live with my Grandfather in Brunswick, we’ll pick him
up at the next stop.’
I
could see the grandfather at the stop just over the tramlines. I had seen him
somewhere in mind over the years, possibly a composite memory of people who
were helpful and kind to me when I was younger, I thought. The bus stopped and
Toby stood up and beckoned the old man to come aboard.
‘Hi Pop, this bloke is Terry L
Probert. He’s our bus driver for today and says he’s a spinner of yarns. Reckons
he’s an author and we will all become part of his new novel and it’s about me.’
‘How are ya Terry. I’m Arthur,
Arthur Farrier, young Toby here calls me Pop and I’ve lived here in the North
Melbourne suburbs all my life.’ He said with a hint of Scottish accent. ‘What’s
your story called?’
‘Pleased to meet you Arthur,
welcome aboard.’ I thought he looked about my age and the spring in his step
showed a young at heart attitude. ‘The story’s called, Toby Farrier and the P.I’s secret. I have aimed it at
a young adult readership but I want it to cross the generation divide and hope everyone
who picks it up enjoys TOBY.’
‘Bit of a long name isn’t it?’
Arthur said, and right there I could see he might be a bit of a tough nut to
crack.
‘A long name or a name with a sub
title it didn’t seem to hurt the Harry Potter books, it kind of gave them a
back story for the title. I just thought it might work, what do you reckon Toby
this one is all about you?’
‘What like you’re JK Rowling and
I’m Harry Potter? You’ve got a few rocks in your head if you think you can do
that, what happens to me? I’m no wizard.’
‘That’s true.’ I said feeling the
sneer in his voice more than hearing it, this kid is tough. ‘But Toby you have
a gift, you are inquisitive and determined. Sure you had troubles as a kid and
gave your parents hell but you are about to embark on the greatest adventure of
all time. Now let’s pick up some of your friends.’
The
bus gathered speed and we trundled along Brunswick Road to turn left into
Sydney Road. Our next passenger was a friend of Arthur’s. I squeezed between
the cars lining the road. Touch parking the vehicles to the front and rear, as
I often do making sure the step was close to the kerb.
‘Come on in Charlie.’ Arthur
called. ‘We’re all gunna have a part in Toby’s story and this is the character
bus. Now so as we make sure he gets it right, you’d better tell the driver,
come author of the story a bit about yourself.’
‘Yeah, yeah. I’m not as young as I
was just let me get in first, what’s the rush?’
I
noticed Charlie was a bit older than Arthur, he was wearing an old pair of
trousers, they were clean but worn and once a part of an expensive suit I
supposed. The crisply pressed long sleeve shirt contrasted with his braces and
they were the button on type, none of these new fangled clips for Charlie. His
pants probably had a button up fly. Hair neat and tidy he had shaved this morning.
Charlie would have been a smart dressed dude in his day.
‘Charlie Ramsey, the auctioneer’
I said.
‘How’d you know that? Besides I’m
retired now.’
‘Read the name above the door and
made an assumption.’ I said. ‘Besides it’s me writing this story so without me,
you guys don’t exist.’
‘Hmmph, don’t bet on it driver we
can be a rowdy and disruptive bunch. The kid’s pretty smart and he wants to
write too, maybe you should concentrate on him.’
Charlie
slid into the seat by Arthur and they nattered away for a while before we
reached the next stop. I flicked the indicator to turn left, we had to go along
Moreland Road and pick up a few of Toby’s friends. I rationalised my thinking,
if Toby is the hero of this plot we need a band of friends, a nemesis of some
sort and a storyline. I hoped by the end of this bus ride I would have just
that.
‘I thought you’d be plugged into
an iPod or fiddling with your phone or another gadget.’ I said to Toby who was
jotting a few lines into a vinyl covered pocket book.
‘I gave Mum and Dad a fair bit of
trouble before I got to come and live with Pop. I guess you could say he helped
me to find myself. I learned that I didn’t need the latest gadgets to make or
impress my friends. I stopped being a spoiled prat and it took a while but I
began to like myself. I have a fair way to go before I earn my Stepmum’s trust
and I’m prepared to wait until Dad can look me in the eye again. So you see I
know I need to make an effort to deserve this part in your story. I want to
write for a living and prove myself worthwhile, and that’s difficult to do in a
small town where you have burnt all your bridges. All of my family’s friends
have been abused, cheated, and let down by me at some time, it took a while for
me to realise it but now I know what I’m sorry for.’
‘Pretty smart of you to turn your
life around Toby, did the old fellas help you out a bit?’
‘Yep, Pop never raised his voice,
but I knew not to cross him, and Mr Ramsey has been great. Some Friday nights
we go around to his rooms and he gets on the old piano and while he plays we
share pizza and have a bit of a sing along. Pop tells us stories from his past
and as they drink beer my friends and I sing along to all the old songs. You
know stuff from Elvis and the Beatles, old stuff like that.’
‘So you’re happy then?’
‘Yeah, now. I’m a pretty good
place.’
‘School?’
‘Pop pulled a few strings and got
me into Prince’s, they have a lot of good programmes and if you stop just up
here where those blokes are, you can see the common grounds.’
I
slowed the bus and saw a group of youths who could only be described as a gang.
Five of them, homeboy pants, butt cleavage, dirty scuffed up shoes black
singlets and unbuttoned flannel shirts. I wasn’t sure I should let them on the
bus. Behind them a girl and three better dressed lads sat in the shade, I was
sure these were Toby’s friends and waved for them to board the bus. I motioned for
the others to wait, but they pushed ahead of Toby’s friends.
‘Who are these guys Toby, do you
know them?’ I asked.
‘Driver, this is Slasher and his
mates the Slater Street Gang. Are you sure want to keep then on the bus?’
‘We’re stayin’ Slasher said ‘If
this prat is going to be in your story, then we’re gunna be in it too. So
Farrier, don’t think you can keep this caper all to yourself. Got it, we will
be up the back watchin’ every move you make and that’s a promise.’
I wasn’t too sure about these blokes
and wondered if they had any place in Toby’s story, but they were already on
the bus now, there wasn’t much I could do. I would give myself some time to get
to know Slasher’s friends later, much later. Almost hidden and drowned out by
the noise of the Slater Street Gang Toby’s friends stepped onto the bus.
‘So Toby, who have we here then?’
‘Terry, I’d like you to meet my
friends from Prince’s.’ Toby said standing up and giving a hello hug to those
boarding. ‘This is Jack Revesby, Nathan Roberts, Sophie Nguyen and Ben Scott we
are all in the same classes at school. Sophie is a black belt in karate and
she’s pretty smart too.’
I could see these friends were
tight, there was something in the manner of their greeting, I could see they trusted
each other. These kids would have Toby’s back as he met the challenges of the
Hero’s Journey.
‘Come on driver,’ Slasher yelled
from the back while his mates laughed. ‘Get a move on driver, where are we off
to next?’
I wanted to give him a slap, and
tell him that with one tap of the delete button he could be written out just as
quick as he appeared, but every story needs a villain and in this one, Slasher
will do just fine. This bloke is going to get under my skin as the story
develops. I hope I can make him evil enough to do him justice.
The
door shut and we pulled away, heading west along Melville Road. A few more corners
and we would cross the road to Sydney Road again. The big wheels thumped as we
crossed the tramlines on Royal Parade, as the traffic slowed near the cemetery,
I stopped and opened the door. A chill swept through our conveyance. I looked
in the mirror Slasher shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
‘What are we doin’ stopped ‘ere.’
he said. ‘Shut the door driver, it’s getting cold.’
‘We just picked up another rider
Slasher,’ I said. ‘Everyone please welcome aboard the ghost of Shamus O’Toole.
Mr O’Toole can’t communicate in the normal way, but believe me he will make
your story interesting.’ I wanted to go on and tell them more about why O’Toole
was with us but as the window behind Slasher had started to fog over. We both
knew where Shamus had taken his seat.
‘People, I want you to look to your
left, this grave yard is going to play a big part in this novel.’
‘Why boneyards don’t scare us do
they Slash?’ Red hair freckles and a smart arse, I’ll call him Freckles in the
story and he won’t be quite as tough without the gang to support him.
I turned into the traffic and following
the right turn lane, turned into Lygon Street. During the ride around the city
I pointed out many of the landmarks and places which in the next seventy five
thousand words would become their playground.
With
every character now informed about their personality, and having shown them the
places within the story I asked them if they understood their roles. Having
achieved their unquestioned agreement for co-operation, I told them that it is now
time to bring on NaNoWriMo. Assured and confident that they had a part in my
novel I thought they would relax, but when I looked in the mirror again I saw
my characters beginning to squabble like petulant movie stars. Peeved with
their attitude I am going to drop them off in front of the Collins Street bank
they will be drawn to. An evil place, and the site of the first financial crash
in the thirties, crash that began the great depression. This was a place for
villains.
I
took the bus back to the garage, parked it in the back corner and covered it up
in readiness for use the next time I need to pick up some characters for
another story.
Monday 3 June 2013
KUNDELA: How Joe met Laura
This is a bit of the book that never made it to print as it didn't add much to the story. It is in first draft form and is a bit rough. I thought I'd share it with you to give you a bit of background to the Gillespie family's story.
After the accident, Les tried his best to be a better father but his demons would not let go.
They spent some wonderful days of water skiing, or riding after cattle together but slowly the drink would beckon. Les would be in town for days, sleeping off a skinful only to resurface and get back into it all again. He never truly broke the cycle and try as he might, the weakness would overtake him. He would drift into a morass of self-pity and remorse, opening the door to yet another binge.
Happier days for Joe would be the weekends and school holidays; he spent at Uralla, the neighbouring farm. His cousins made him welcome and Auntie Bet, his mother’s sister treated him like one of their own.
Uncle Tom Mitchell had become a strong role model for Joe and unlike Les; Tom had worked hard to buy their place. He was often away working, taking all kinds of jobs, roo shooter, fencer and shearer, anything to make a quid. He was happy and caring, needing to love and be loved by his family.
Tom took pride in his abilities, paying the bank off bit-by-bit. ‘A hard day’s work is easy when you are working for something you love,’ he would tell Joe. It was too easy for Joe to be saddened and conflicted by this, for as much as he loved his father; he wanted to be just like Tom
Over the next four years, Joe studied hard. He took every opportunity to improve his sporting prowess and building the library of his mind. All the time, his memories of the bush kept calling him home. Joe adapted easily to city life and had many friends. Yet he yearned for the holidays and always packed a day early for the journey home.
The place seemed smaller after the city and now with Les was spending even more time in town. Joe could catch up with Joseph, his grandfather and finding out what had happened in the time he was away. Old Joseph was proud of his grandson and understood the difficult relationship they both shared with Les.
The old man’s kindness and knowledge made him easy company. Joe loved the time they shared together, learning the history of the property, what to look for when buying sheep or cattle and how to maintain machinery properly.
‘These are all things a father teaches a son,’ Joseph would tell his wife, ‘so if Les can’t or won’t then I can, I must, after all he is my grandson.’
He would tell his college friends, ‘To sit behind that worn out, old, thin rimmed, steering wheel, with the windscreen down and the doors removed was freedom personified. Not fast you know but to hear the old tyres crashing through the gravel in the dry creek beds is as good as any tune on the radio’
His city friends could picture Joe, wide eyed and grinning. Just a flash of faded green scything through the tracks and splashing into the creeks of Wanooka’s Well, envying him his freedom and love for the country.
She would throw her arms around him, holding him, tenderly whispering. ‘Just what would your mother say and wow look at how much you have grown since we saw you last’
Their ritual becoming a bond between them over the years and one both enjoyed immensely.
The picture sharpening, becoming ever clearer, as Joe shielded his eyes. With the dust clearing and the sun setting, light shone through the ankle length white cotton skirt. Revealed a pair of long, fine legs supporting a slender body, Joe stood there with his mouth agape. Her long neck and shoulder length hair framed a pretty face. Taking a long and lingering view of the young attractive woman in standing front of him, he smiled.
‘She’s pretty,’ Joe yelled to his cousins as they began falling over themselves racing across the yard to see him.
‘She’s pretty! Is that your best line?’ the young woman snorted, turning on her heal and going back inside. ‘You had better be able to better than that country boy’
‘Her name is Laura’ Mary giggled, ‘You just met your match boy’
‘It’s gunna be fun watching you squirm Joey, tonight, you might just get your come-uppance’ Janet sniggered.
While everyone engaged in conversation over dinner, Joe couldn’t take his eyes off Laura. He clumsily tried to make small talk, attempting to engage her, but tonight his easiness evaporated. His mouth was unusually dry and his words just died, dissolving into the depths of his awkwardness.
For her part, Laura had the upper hand, feigning disdain at his fuddled attempts to be charming, laughing and teasing Joe.
Whispering to Auntie Bet, ‘I’m enjoying this but he is cute and I don’t want to upset him too much’
Placing a reassuring hand on the young woman’s knee, Auntie Bet laughed and whispered back. ‘He’s tough, I have never seen him so uncomfortable and don’t worry you are the only one in this room tonight who has his attention. I love it’
‘It’s not like you to be stuck for words,’ Uncle Tom stated while they were washing the dinner dishes, ‘I think this one’s got you hooked.’
‘There is not a girl in the world that can hold me’ Joe grinned, knowing he was fibbing and more than a little bit too.
‘You reckon, Joe?’ countered Tom ‘I’ll bet you a week’s work, that in a month or two you will be calling her every night if you can’
‘You are on Tom, to spice it up a bit why don’t we make it a week of fencing. Grandad says there is a bit at Third Water which needs doing,’ bluffed Joe
‘Done’ and Tom clasped the young man’s hand, ‘remember to bring your gear over next time you’re home’
That night, Joe lay on his bed staring up at nothing, sometimes watching the revolving blades of the wicker, ceiling fan as they continued their circle. They were keeping time with the image of Laura, rotating in a seamless time loop in his mind. This had been an unusual experience, terrifying, enchanting and exciting all at the same time. Why was he feeling something new, something much unexpected? He was the cool guy; his friends all called him Joe Cool didn’t they. He had always been able to control the traffic of his thoughts but not now, not tonight. Sleep eluded him; he had never felt this way before. There had been a couple of girlfriends while in Adelaide but this girl was different, very different, and somewhat scary. It was fair to say that Laura had more than upset his equilibrium.
How did she do this, why was she constantly in his thoughts and why did he smile whenever he conjured up her image? It would all have to wait, he was off to Adelaide in the morning, this was the final term and his exams needed passing.
‘Where did she fit in, why was she visiting? Oh, there were too many questions and very few answers’ Joe hoped this would not affect his study results,
‘Knuckle down and get on with it, priorities, Joe priorities’ he silently chanted.
Taking his seat in the pavilion, he silently promised to make his mother proud, the mood quietened, beginning the first exam. Those two hours seemed like eternity and yet there still seemed to be no time. ‘How does that happen?’ he wondered. ‘One down four to go’
Term finished and now for Christmas holidays at home, the wait for his results and a week of fencing with Uncle Tom.
‘Can’t wait,’ he thought. Joe had called Laura, not every night but often enough to keep his word.
Laura would be spending some of her time with the Mitchell.s over Christmas.
The thought of seeing her again was exciting and in that moment he could feel his face smiling again. ‘How does she do that?’ he wondered.
‘The old people, the traditional owners hold the cave sacred and we should respect that. I will always protect their rights.’ Joe told her. ‘Outside the cave however, we can do what we want’
Now eighteen, Joe not only had love on his mind but once his results were in he would need to make a career choice. For today all that could wait, he was in love and everyday spent with Laura filled him with joy and happiness.
From horseback on the hill overlooking the homestead, they watched the mail truck wind its way slowly along the creek, creeping toward the letterbox at the station gate. The old truck’s brakes squealed in agony as the vehicle gently stopped, a trail of dust seemed to surge past the truck as if challenging the driver to race it to the next stop.
A small figure bounced out of the driver’s seat and lifted the lid of the milk can, which had fashioned the letterbox years earlier. The driver tossed in the sealed bag with its unknown cargo. What was in this week’s mail? What exciting news did it hold?
‘I’ll race you down. It could be your results’ challenged Laura
‘I don’t think so, Dad gets funny if I touch the mail’ Joe responded. ‘Come on I had better get you back to Auntie Bet’s. She wanted to take you into town this arvo, or did you forget?’
Joe stopped talking to Tom for a while and then drifted off home imagining the treasures the shoppers may find. He remembered the package and wondered if anything arrived in the mail for him.
An official letter waited on the table, a letter unexpected. This was not his examination results but one heralding change. Joe trembled reading the contents; the words revealing his conscription into the Australian Army. Like his father had been before him.
It didn’t seem fair, and now for the first time in his life since his mother had died, he was at ease. His perspective freshened, increasing his hopes and Laura making him happier than he could remember.
Why was this happening to him and why now? In sixty days, Joe would be a soldier and he knew he would have to accept it.
After the accident, Les tried his best to be a better father but his demons would not let go.
They spent some wonderful days of water skiing, or riding after cattle together but slowly the drink would beckon. Les would be in town for days, sleeping off a skinful only to resurface and get back into it all again. He never truly broke the cycle and try as he might, the weakness would overtake him. He would drift into a morass of self-pity and remorse, opening the door to yet another binge.
Happier days for Joe would be the weekends and school holidays; he spent at Uralla, the neighbouring farm. His cousins made him welcome and Auntie Bet, his mother’s sister treated him like one of their own.
Uncle Tom Mitchell had become a strong role model for Joe and unlike Les; Tom had worked hard to buy their place. He was often away working, taking all kinds of jobs, roo shooter, fencer and shearer, anything to make a quid. He was happy and caring, needing to love and be loved by his family.
Tom took pride in his abilities, paying the bank off bit-by-bit. ‘A hard day’s work is easy when you are working for something you love,’ he would tell Joe. It was too easy for Joe to be saddened and conflicted by this, for as much as he loved his father; he wanted to be just like Tom
****
Moving to
boarding school in Adelaide was good for Joe. Being a boarder provided him with
a sense of continuity and structure. Something, through no fault of his own, it
had always eluded him. He enjoyed the discipline of a planned existence, he
felt secure knowing if he put in the effort, his academic abilities would take
care of themselves.
Joe lived by a mantra he had heard
somewhere, ‘if it is to be, then it’s up to me’
When things got tough he would
recite it repeatedly in his head, somehow it seemed to work. The more he
studied, the easier things were. Joe knew boring things like Maths, English and
Science would be important. If ever Wanooka’s Well would be his one day, he
would need them. Therefore, it was a done deal; he put in the hard yards,
always passing, amassing credits and distinctions.
****
Sport, however
was his first love, a passion, something he was unable to enjoy. Before leaving
for Adelaide, his opportunities at home, to play sport were limited. His dad
always had chores for him to do after school or on weekends, but in college,
Joe could shine.Over the next four years, Joe studied hard. He took every opportunity to improve his sporting prowess and building the library of his mind. All the time, his memories of the bush kept calling him home. Joe adapted easily to city life and had many friends. Yet he yearned for the holidays and always packed a day early for the journey home.
The place seemed smaller after the city and now with Les was spending even more time in town. Joe could catch up with Joseph, his grandfather and finding out what had happened in the time he was away. Old Joseph was proud of his grandson and understood the difficult relationship they both shared with Les.
The old man’s kindness and knowledge made him easy company. Joe loved the time they shared together, learning the history of the property, what to look for when buying sheep or cattle and how to maintain machinery properly.
‘These are all things a father teaches a son,’ Joseph would tell his wife, ‘so if Les can’t or won’t then I can, I must, after all he is my grandson.’
****
Joe filled his
grandfather’s old Land Rover with petrol, checked the oil and water, casually
kicking the old tyres to check if the pressure was okay. Standing back
with his hands on his hips and admiring his ride, Joe was ready to escape,
disappearing to explore the far ends of the place.He would tell his college friends, ‘To sit behind that worn out, old, thin rimmed, steering wheel, with the windscreen down and the doors removed was freedom personified. Not fast you know but to hear the old tyres crashing through the gravel in the dry creek beds is as good as any tune on the radio’
His city friends could picture Joe, wide eyed and grinning. Just a flash of faded green scything through the tracks and splashing into the creeks of Wanooka’s Well, envying him his freedom and love for the country.
****
Holidays were
fantastic, a time full of enjoyment, a wonderfully easy time. Joe visited his
cousins on the neighbouring property every chance he could. He loved nothing
better than racing through their drive and skidding up to the front gate. He
loved Auntie Bet’s welcome, waving her finger and scalding ‘Joe slow down before
you kill yourself or someone else’. She would throw her arms around him, holding him, tenderly whispering. ‘Just what would your mother say and wow look at how much you have grown since we saw you last’
Their ritual becoming a bond between them over the years and one both enjoyed immensely.
****
The Mitchell
girls were a lot younger than he was, they looked up to Joe as they would a big
brother and he revelled in it. This trip home was different though, Joe had
thrashed the old Land Rover across to see Auntie Bet for their usual ritual.
Only this time it was not Bet who was first through the door, another
shadowy figure appeared, hard to picture, she was silhouetted against the
setting sun. Joe knew it was a she, he might be a country boy, but he was not
slow and her image was enchanting.The picture sharpening, becoming ever clearer, as Joe shielded his eyes. With the dust clearing and the sun setting, light shone through the ankle length white cotton skirt. Revealed a pair of long, fine legs supporting a slender body, Joe stood there with his mouth agape. Her long neck and shoulder length hair framed a pretty face. Taking a long and lingering view of the young attractive woman in standing front of him, he smiled.
‘She’s pretty,’ Joe yelled to his cousins as they began falling over themselves racing across the yard to see him.
‘She’s pretty! Is that your best line?’ the young woman snorted, turning on her heal and going back inside. ‘You had better be able to better than that country boy’
‘Her name is Laura’ Mary giggled, ‘You just met your match boy’
‘It’s gunna be fun watching you squirm Joey, tonight, you might just get your come-uppance’ Janet sniggered.
While everyone engaged in conversation over dinner, Joe couldn’t take his eyes off Laura. He clumsily tried to make small talk, attempting to engage her, but tonight his easiness evaporated. His mouth was unusually dry and his words just died, dissolving into the depths of his awkwardness.
For her part, Laura had the upper hand, feigning disdain at his fuddled attempts to be charming, laughing and teasing Joe.
Whispering to Auntie Bet, ‘I’m enjoying this but he is cute and I don’t want to upset him too much’
Placing a reassuring hand on the young woman’s knee, Auntie Bet laughed and whispered back. ‘He’s tough, I have never seen him so uncomfortable and don’t worry you are the only one in this room tonight who has his attention. I love it’
‘It’s not like you to be stuck for words,’ Uncle Tom stated while they were washing the dinner dishes, ‘I think this one’s got you hooked.’
‘There is not a girl in the world that can hold me’ Joe grinned, knowing he was fibbing and more than a little bit too.
‘You reckon, Joe?’ countered Tom ‘I’ll bet you a week’s work, that in a month or two you will be calling her every night if you can’
‘You are on Tom, to spice it up a bit why don’t we make it a week of fencing. Grandad says there is a bit at Third Water which needs doing,’ bluffed Joe
‘Done’ and Tom clasped the young man’s hand, ‘remember to bring your gear over next time you’re home’
That night, Joe lay on his bed staring up at nothing, sometimes watching the revolving blades of the wicker, ceiling fan as they continued their circle. They were keeping time with the image of Laura, rotating in a seamless time loop in his mind. This had been an unusual experience, terrifying, enchanting and exciting all at the same time. Why was he feeling something new, something much unexpected? He was the cool guy; his friends all called him Joe Cool didn’t they. He had always been able to control the traffic of his thoughts but not now, not tonight. Sleep eluded him; he had never felt this way before. There had been a couple of girlfriends while in Adelaide but this girl was different, very different, and somewhat scary. It was fair to say that Laura had more than upset his equilibrium.
How did she do this, why was she constantly in his thoughts and why did he smile whenever he conjured up her image? It would all have to wait, he was off to Adelaide in the morning, this was the final term and his exams needed passing.
‘Where did she fit in, why was she visiting? Oh, there were too many questions and very few answers’ Joe hoped this would not affect his study results,
‘Knuckle down and get on with it, priorities, Joe priorities’ he silently chanted.
****
This last term
just vanished and now Joe only faced the pressure of his Final Exams. Was he up
to it? Joe drew into his huge reserves. Remembering his Mother had insisting on
a trust fund to ensure he received a good education. Taking his seat in the pavilion, he silently promised to make his mother proud, the mood quietened, beginning the first exam. Those two hours seemed like eternity and yet there still seemed to be no time. ‘How does that happen?’ he wondered. ‘One down four to go’
Term finished and now for Christmas holidays at home, the wait for his results and a week of fencing with Uncle Tom.
‘Can’t wait,’ he thought. Joe had called Laura, not every night but often enough to keep his word.
Laura would be spending some of her time with the Mitchell.s over Christmas.
The thought of seeing her again was exciting and in that moment he could feel his face smiling again. ‘How does she do that?’ he wondered.
****
These were great
days, the young pair riding horses. Exploring the many aboriginal sights along
the waterholes that littered the valleys and ranges of Wanooka’s Well. Laura especially loved the area
they called Third Water. Sharp grey granite cliffs framed a backdrop to a permanent
water hole. Protected, the old river gums stood proud sentinel over the lushly
grassed river flat. The cliffs kept an ancient secret, a narrow opening behind
a slab of granite hid a deep cave. Filled with traditional art and precious
artifacts, the Gillespie family too kept its secret, ‘The old people, the traditional owners hold the cave sacred and we should respect that. I will always protect their rights.’ Joe told her. ‘Outside the cave however, we can do what we want’
Now eighteen, Joe not only had love on his mind but once his results were in he would need to make a career choice. For today all that could wait, he was in love and everyday spent with Laura filled him with joy and happiness.
From horseback on the hill overlooking the homestead, they watched the mail truck wind its way slowly along the creek, creeping toward the letterbox at the station gate. The old truck’s brakes squealed in agony as the vehicle gently stopped, a trail of dust seemed to surge past the truck as if challenging the driver to race it to the next stop.
A small figure bounced out of the driver’s seat and lifted the lid of the milk can, which had fashioned the letterbox years earlier. The driver tossed in the sealed bag with its unknown cargo. What was in this week’s mail? What exciting news did it hold?
‘I’ll race you down. It could be your results’ challenged Laura
‘I don’t think so, Dad gets funny if I touch the mail’ Joe responded. ‘Come on I had better get you back to Auntie Bet’s. She wanted to take you into town this arvo, or did you forget?’
Joe stopped talking to Tom for a while and then drifted off home imagining the treasures the shoppers may find. He remembered the package and wondered if anything arrived in the mail for him.
An official letter waited on the table, a letter unexpected. This was not his examination results but one heralding change. Joe trembled reading the contents; the words revealing his conscription into the Australian Army. Like his father had been before him.
It didn’t seem fair, and now for the first time in his life since his mother had died, he was at ease. His perspective freshened, increasing his hopes and Laura making him happier than he could remember.
Why was this happening to him and why now? In sixty days, Joe would be a soldier and he knew he would have to accept it.
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