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Lost in Books with Veronica Strachan

Veronica Strachan spent most of her childhood lost in a good book. She spent most of her adult life lost in a good job as a nurse, midwife, CEO, coach, and facilitator (amongst other things).

After years of encouraging others to follow their dreams, she remembered what she wanted to be when she grew up. Five years later she has six published books: a memoir, a workbook/journal, and a children’s picture book series illustrated by her daughter, Cassi.

Cassi & Veronica Strachan

As V.E. Patton, Veronica has written a fantasy and a novelette. She is co-founder of Australian Book Lovers and co-hosts their podcast.

In keeping with my theme of 2021, I asked Veronica about her inspirations.

Veronica: Thank you for the lovely opportunity to contribute to your blog.

What inspires me?

Such succulent bait to my chronically overactive curiosity and imagination. Reel me in!

‘Learning’ in all its forms inspires me. But, let’s keep it to what inspires my writing life…

Age attenuated the urgency of making a living and bringing up children. So, having given myself permission to make writing my next best thing – as it had been my first thing during childhood – inspiration began coming from all points of the compass, the clock, and life.

Nature can inspire

Small things can inspire stories

I see a person frowning into their phone – what’s their backstory? A cat staring superciliously at its human slave – character for a villain. Autumn leaves skittering across chilled black dirt – setting. An anecdote from a friend – plot twist. Heated exchange in a shop queue – dialogue. Flick of a fringe or straightening of a cap – character trait. A quiet walk: still air and sunshine are the soil, imagination is the seed, inspiration bursts forth – a new stand-alone science fiction story about genetic engineering.

No, perhaps a trilogy with a second trilogy to follow!

I jog home to scribble down some notes. Most of all, I’m inspired by people: my husband, children, friends, and clients. Whether I’m coaching an individual, facilitating a room full of clinicians or chatting with a friend over a cuppa, I see potential in everyone, hope for a better future, be it this minute, this month, or this life. All food for putting words on a page.

Breathing While Drowning was inspired by my daughter, Jacqueline Bree, who died at four years old. Twenty-years later as I wanted to creatively write, I had her voice in my head encouraging me to write our story. I transcribed journals I wrote to Jacqui in the short years she was alive and for several years after as I struggled through grief. And I was inspired by myself. Perhaps an odd thing to say, but reading back over what that younger me had done, lived and felt, I was so grateful for how she’d held our life together – not always well, but hold it together she did. And ever so slowly, she opened herself to healing from the life and love around her.

Six book covers

Six books by Veronica, as VE Patton and as Veronica Strachan

Ochre Dragon was inspired by every science fiction and fantasy book I’d ever read, every utopian or dystopian world I’d ever escaped to and the absolute dearth of female protagonists over fifty! So, inspired by every clever and courageous woman I’d met, I wrote the book I wanted to read. Middle-aged woman battles her own demons, all the villains, and saves the universe – or does she?

My oldest sister, Mary inspired my picture book series: The Adventures of Chickabella. Mary died two years ago from breast cancer, a dearly loved and respected kindergarten teacher, leaving five young grandchildren to miss her reading stories to them. Mary was the oral story-teller in our family, every moment was history, and every moment a memory. She taught as easily and effortlessly as breathing. My eldest daughter Cassi created the beautiful illustrations for her Aunty.

Book Extract!

Veronica has very kindly given us a free extract from her writing. This is from Ochre Dragon: The Opal Dreaming Chronicles Book 1, Chapter 2.

VE Patton The Ochre Dragon cover

VE Patton The Ochre Dragon cover detail

Here we meet middle-aged project manager Ali just after she’s been attacked in her office!

***

If the assassin stops to kill her, then I can escape. Ali felt sick at being so gutless. Indecision kept her frozen to the spot, expecting a scream at any moment. With her eyes glued to the door, rainbow sparkles began to crowd her vision.

A trilling female voice hooted with laughter in Ali’s head. She clutched her temples. You should SO run. Impossibly, the voice sliced through her brain like a hot knife.

She’s not who you think she is. She’d definitely run if the shoe was on the other foot.

‘Who’s there?’ Ali rasped, fear drying her mouth.

Come on. Did you see what I did there? Shoe on the other foot. You’re only wearing one shoe. SHOE-ON-THE-OTHER-FOOT. Surely that’s worth a groan at least.

‘Who is it? Come out now. This is not funny. We’re in a Code Black,’ Ali couldn’t imagine how the voice was in her head.

You know who I am Ali Morrow. That is who you’re calling yourself in this incarnation, isn’t it Alinta? Invisible, anonymous Proji and Cataloguer Extraordinaire.

The voice continued in a huffy tone. And that was very funny by the way. I’ve been practising my comedy routines while I waited for you to come to your senses.

Ali swivelled, searching the foyer for the owner of the voice.

We don’t have time for theatrics. We’re close to the century congruence. It’s me. Jiemba. I’m through. I’m back. We needed a life-threatening event so I could break through this ridiculous nightmare you call existence.

Ali’s gift flashed a picture of a cranky red dragon in her mind. Dragon. Mammoth body, sinuous neck, enormous frilled head, covered in scales, dragon. Dark red threads charged around her gift like lit fuses, blasting holes and breaking connections in her mind’s tapestry.

The dragon sat on its massive haunches in the chaos and bared a set of sharp, glistening fangs. It tilted and lowered its head so that Ali got a glimpse of one enormous eye peering at her – from inside her head. Apart from the vertical obsidian pupil, the dragon’s eye was like a gigantic opal. The eye drank in light, leaving the smattering of sparkling rainbow flecks a brilliant counterpoint.

Hello breakfast.

Ali shook her head, her heart hammering a ragged tattoo. She must be going mad. The old woman had told her to remember Jiemba. Something about her shadow seemed out of sync and Ali glanced down to see that it had transformed into the shape of an enormous dragon, its head crowned with curled horns.

She dragged her gaze past outstretched wings, taloned forelimbs, and a lashing spiked tail. Its hind legs and enormous feet joined at her very real single shod pair. Her mind threatened to explode.

‘No. Absolutely not. There are no such things as dragons.’ She barely realised she’d spoken aloud and closed her eyes as an offended huff sounded in her head.

There certainly are such things. And you and I are one. So let’s get outta here. The voice turned a little plaintive. I wanna go Home.

Ali squeezed her eyes tighter.

Aren’t you even a little bit glad to see me? I was only kidding about the breakfast thing. I haven’t eaten a human in ages. At least a couple of hours. Kidding. I’m just kidding. I only eat the bad ones. Kidding again, Well, no actually. That bit is true.

Ali put her hands over her ears. ‘Not real. Not real. Not real,’ she chanted.

Jiemba sulked in the background, mumbling about humour and bad gigs. All of which only upped Ali’s panic level. A noise had her whirling as her office door opened and Sophie strolled out, the epitome of composure.

She looks more like a bloody manager than me, all cool and graceful. Ali did not qualify for cool or graceful just now.

‘Nothing there but shadows and an over-active imagination. Come on, come and see.’ Sophie beckoned her closer.

How can she be braver than me? I’ve got at least a quarter-century on her, and she’s just an addi.

I could’ve helped you with that. I have enough courage for both of us. And then some.

Sophie’s not hearing the voice.

Well, she wouldn’t, would she. I’m only in your head.

Ali gulped, swallowing the bile that fear had driven to her throat.

Ugh, that burns. I am so heading to that stress session tonight.

Sophie beckoned again, her lifted eyebrow questioning Ali’s hesitation.

Ali approached, limping in her single high heel, and peeked past Sophie’s smile. Nothing. No one. She stepped into the small room, getting a whiff of Sophie’s citrus perfume and nothing else. She edged past the upended chair, bent and looked under the desk and then over to the floor beside the window.

Nope, no ninja assassin. No silver thingies.

Her body sagged. She ran her fingers through her hair, gathering the soft escapees and tucking them behind her ears.

‘What about the conference room? Did you check in there?’ Ali asked.

Sophie nodded. ‘Nothing.’

‘Jeez, I must look like an idiot.’

Sophie patted her shoulder sympathetically.

Can’t disagree with you there, Jiemba chuckled.

‘Ali, you’ve been working like a fiend to get this report out. You’re exhausted. And you don’t eat well. Is it any wonder you’re jumping at shadows? Go and save your work and I’ll make you a cuppa for the trip home. Time we both left anyway. Federation won’t love us if we file for burn out.’

Sophie marched off and Ali listened to her confident clip, clip, clip across the tiles to the kitchen. The sound of the boiling kettle seemed so prosaic to her overwrought senses.

She realised she was standing forlornly in the middle of her office, adrenaline still churning her gut. She took a long, slow, deep breath, remembering her stress relief classes and glanced around.

‘Right, nothing to see. You’re ridiculously busy, so stressed that even in the daytime you’re imagining wandering wild women and nefarious ninja assassins.’

Seriously, why the hell would ninja assassins want to kill me? It’s not like I’m anyone important. I’m nothing. I know I’m good at my job, but jeez.

You forgot a dragon talking in your head. Jiemba sounded snarky. Ali ignored her.

***

Wow! All that and DRAGONS! Thank you so much Veronica, for being my guest tioday.

Check out the links below for more 🙂

Veronica’s Links

Website https://www.veronicastrachan.com.au/
Breathing While Drowning: One Woman’s Quest for Wholeness https://books2read.com/BWD
Ochre Dragon: The Opal Dreaming Chronicles Book 1 https://books2read.com/OchreDragon

Ocean Currents: inspiration by Rebecca Fraser

The lure of the ocean and a love of speculative fiction combine in the works of Australian author Rebecca Fraser. But these are not this writer’s only strengths. I recently read and reviewed Rebecca’s book of short stories Coralesque and Other Tales to Disturb and Distract for Aurealis magazine, using words like:

“Fraser’s insight and eye for detail imbue every story, and her imaginative scope encompasses a prodigious variety of settings and characters. Keep this little book of horrors close.”

Going forward with the idea of an inspiring 2021, I recently asked Rebecca to contribute to my blog with a reflection about what inspires her writing, and – you guessed it – a bonus FREE EXTRACT! Read on…

Inspired by Life

REBECCA: Thanks so much for having me on you blog, Clare. I always love reading answers to this question! For me, inspiration is usually drawn from multiple sources. Sometimes it’s a snatch of overhead conversation (I’m a dreadful eavesdropper, but aren’t all writers?), that inspires the kernel of a story. An article or news item might trigger inspiration, or sometimes a random sequence of words strike me as an intriguing story title. I often glean glimpses and glimmers of inciting incidents or thought-provoking situations from random sources, and little building blocks of plot and setting start to form a framework.  The characters always seem to come later.

Rebecca Fraser, Australian author, lives on Victoria's beautiful Mornington Peninsula

Rebecca Fraser, Australian author, lives on Victoria’s beautiful Mornington Peninsula

I walk a lot too—for physical and mental exercise. There are some lovely walks that surround my home on Victoria’s Mornington Peninsula, and when it’s just me alone with my thoughts, immersed in nature, this is usually when the threads of a story come together, or when I get resolution to a plot point that might have been proving problematic.

As far as what I find inspiring on a personal level, it’s often drawn from deep wells where people have thrown off the cloak of repression or revolted against the abuse of power and privilege and marginalisation, sometimes at enormous sacrifice and cost. It’s people at their best versus people at their worst—the human condition is a perennial source of fascination to me. Courage, retribution, and comeuppance often find a place within my stories.

 

The gift of an extract

REBECCA: This is the first chapter of my middle grade fantasy adventure Curtis Creed and the Lore of the Ocean (IFWG Publishing Australia, 2018).

Front Cover_Curtis Creed and the Lore of the Ocean

Curtis Creed and the Lore of the Ocean

I chose this piece as the events, characters, and setting are a fusion of my love for the ocean and my love of speculative fiction. Much of my work carries a nautical theme or features a coastal setting, so it was a pleasure to write in familiar territory.

I also wanted to tackle issues and themes that are relevant to today’s youth, and thirteen-year-old Curtis Creed proved a worthy vehicle to use for this. The book highlights several themes: the acceptance of great loss, the differing effect grief can have on family members, courage in the face of adversity, self-worth, self-belief, self-acceptance, and respect for our environment.

On a lighter note, Curtis Creed and the Lore of the Ocean is predominantly a fun, fast-paced fantasy adventure story, filled with characters I hoped many readers would be able to relate to.

It’s set in Queensland,  in the fictional coastal township of Midnight Cove. I’m a former Queensland girl, so I feel like I’ve walked the shoreline of Midnight Cove many times, and delved deep into the hidden world of rockpools. Perhaps, like Curtis, I should have delved deeper … who knows what I might have found? 😊

 

EXTRACT from Curtis Creed and the Lore of the Ocean

Curtis Creed stood at the water’s edge. Come back to me, the ocean sighed. Come back to me. But he couldn’t. Not today. Not ever.

He squinted against the afternoon sun and focused on the line-up of surfers gathered out past the second break. Even though they were far offshore, Curtis’ trained eye was able to pick out their various techniques—weight transfers, body positions, timing. It was second nature. If you weren’t in the surf yourself then you were watching other surfers; scrutinising their moves, checking out their styles.

He’d stood at the shoreline for so long his feet had become anchored, buried ankle-deep in the sand with the ebb and pull of the tide. Out among the breakers, a surfer powered down the face of a beautifully formed wave before disappearing into the pipeline. Remember that feeling? the ocean breathed. Remember? Of course he remembered, but he couldn’t return to the surf. He just couldn’t.

Instead the school holidays dragged along—lonesome days spent wandering the shoreline of Midnight Cove or sitting high up on The Bluff, watching others chase waves. Sometimes, when the surf was really pumping, his sense of loss and failure was so suffocating it was easier to avoid the beach altogether.

Thwack. A wad of wet sand hit Curtis hard in the back, right between his shoulders. His buried feet caused him to lose balance and he pitched forward. He flung his arms out to steady himself too late, and landed in the water on all fours.

“Whatcha doing, Shark Crumb? Looking out for sharks?” The hated nickname. Loud guffaws. It was Dylan and his moronic mates. Why couldn’t his brother just leave him alone?

“Yeah, Shark Crumb. Seen any sharks lately?”

“Better get out of the water, Shark Crumb. They’ll smell your fear.”

Curtis stood up. His board shorts and the front of his singlet were soaked. He turned to face his tormentors. Dylan was flanked by Blake and Jordo, two of his mates from high school. They were fresh from the surf with wetsuits pulled down around their waists. Water dripped from their hair and trickled down their torsos. The boys had pressed their surfboards into the wet sand, where they stood upright like silent sentinels.

Then Curtis noticed Dylan was using their father’s surfboard and anger boiled inside him like lava in a volcano. The thruster stood between Blake and Jordo’s boards, a falcon between two pigeons. It was handcrafted for speed and could cut down the face of a wave like no other. Dimples of wax glinted from its surface, wax that remained from another time, applied in dawn’s first light by their father’s hand. The image sliced Curtis’ heart as cleanly as the board’s fin cut through water.

“Why have you got Dad’s board?” He was screaming now. He couldn’t help it. Didn’t care.

“What’s it to you? You never use it.” Dylan folded his arms across his chest.

“That’s not the point.” Curtis took a step closer to Dylan. “Dad left it to me. To me.” His voice was shaking now. Blake and Jordo circled like a pair of seagulls, cawing out the familiar taunt Shark Crumb, but Curtis barely heard them.

A tendon in Dylan’s neck began to pulse. He shaped up to Curtis so closely he could see the peppering of blackheads across Dylan’s nose. “Dad never would’ve left it to you if he knew you were going to turn into such a pussy.”

Before he’d even thought about what he was doing, Curtis punched Dylan in the face as hard as he could. The swing harnessed every ounce of his rage and the punch landed with a clap. Dylan fell backwards. His eyes widened with surprise then quickly clouded with danger. A droplet of blood fell from his nose and made a coin-sized stain on the wet sand.

It was time to go. Curtis turned and pelted off down the beach. Behind him he could hear Blake and Jordo give chase, but he knew he could outrun them. The stupid nickname rang out behind him, but as the distance grew the voices became fainter until they were eventually torn away by the ocean breeze.

He ran without looking back. His breath hitched in his chest. A ball of embers burned the back of his throat, but still he ran. Tears stung his eyes, but he also felt a thrill of exhilaration. He’d hit Dylan before, of course, and received his fair share back. Heck, they were brothers. They’d grown up with horse bites, birthday punches, Chinese burns, and the dreaded typewriter. But he’d never all out hauled off and decked him. It had felt good, but the brief rush of exhilaration was quickly replaced by terror at the thought what awaited him when he returned home. Especially as he’d managed to floor Dylan in front of his mates. His brother would no doubt have all kinds of retribution in store.

He decided to delay for as long as he could. As he rounded the southernmost end of Midnight Cove he slowed to a jog. Here the long stretch of beach gave way to a rocky shoreline heavily strewn with ancient lava boulders and rock pools. The rock shelf—a labyrinth of stones and shallows—skirted the great cliffs that rose to form Midnight Bluff, the town’s highest point.

The ocean’s teeth had gnashed the cliffs for thousands of years carving an alien landscape of rock face and rivulets. The rock pools closest to the sandy beach made safe watery playgrounds for children to explore with buckets and spades. Further round the headland, however, access was difficult and discouraged. The gentle waves that undulated through the bay had nowhere to go when they met land here, and they boomed and crashed over the rocks. The boulders were larger and denser, filled with ankle-breaking crevices and rock pools that were deceptively deeper than their beach-hugging counterparts. They filled and drained with the tide’s highs and lows.

Curtis knew Dylan wouldn’t follow him here. It wasn’t just the difficulty of access that would stop him, there were too many memories.

Curtis ignored his aching fist as he jumped gazelle-like from boulder to boulder. The ocean’s salt-tinged air whipped and whistled and he ventured deeper into the network of rock pools until the beach was completely out of sight.

***

Oh my goodness, that’s an exciting extract! Thank you so much, Rebecca, for sharing it with us today.

You can find Rebecca’s work at the links below. Enjoy 😉

 

Front Cover_Coralesque

Coralesque and other tales to disturb and distract, by Rebecca Fraser

REBECCA’S LINKS


Website:
  https://writingandmoonlighting.com/

Curtis Creed and the Lore of the Oceanhttps://www.amazon.com.au/Curtis-Creed-Ocean-Rebecca-Fraser/dp/1925759032

Coralesque and Other Tales to Disturb and Distracthttps://www.amazon.com.au/Coralesque-Other-Tales-Disturb-Distract/dp/1925956709

Not Just Cricket: Bowl the Maidens Over

Can you guess when and where we played the first women’s cricket game in Australia? Bendigo, 1874!

You may know that I have a history decades-long of loving cricket. I’m very excited about this book.

MCC First XI Premiers 1994/95

Melbourne Cricket Club First XI Premiers 1994/95…that’s me, the scorer. And yes that is the late great Dean Jones top left.

History, culture, sport, feminism…

Today’s guest, Louise Zedda-Sampson, is about to release a wonderful book called Bowl the Maidens Over: Our First Women Cricketers.

The book is an intriguing account of the first Australian women’s cricket matches. In 1874 at the Sandhurst Easter Fair (Bendigo, Victoria), two teams of women cricketers assembled to play a cricket match in front of a rather large and enthusiastic crowd. It was a charity match raising funds for the Bendigo Hospital and Benevolent Asylum.

Louise’s book follows the women players as well as the members of the Rae family. The Raes were pivotal in creating and running the matches. From the first ad in the paper to the media storm afterwords, this is an amazing story.

First, Louise shares her inspiration for the book.

LOUISE: I’m never short for inspiration and find it comes in the weirdest ways.

This one came about during my last year of the Diploma of Professional Writing and Editing at Melbourne Polytechnic when the course coordinator asked me if I would like to contribute to a volunteer project. The Youlden Parkville Cricket Club wanted to recreate the club’s history. The club president, Paul Sinclair, is a very passionate player and president and wanted this to be something special for his club. After compiling this information for the club, there were several stories that wouldn’t let me go. I’ve written one about Harry Boyle and David Scott who owned one of the sports emporiums ‘Boyle and Scott’  in the 1800s prior to the Depression. My new book book focuses on the first Australian games of women’s cricket. A topic that’s barely had more than a line or two in any other book on women’s sports to date!

You could say that the women wouldn’t leave me alone until I shared the story! So they were the inspiration and I just stumbled across them while digging through the history of early cricket.

It was a challenge to find the right piece to include as an extract as each section offers something different. Rather than explaining how it all began, I’m going to put you right there, at the very first game.

Second, a free extract from Bowl the Maidens Over!

The match begins. Read on…

 

An advertisement for the match

An advertisement for the match

At noon, as the fair opened for the second day, the cricketers arrived at the cricket ground in the same three carriages they had ridden in as part of the parade. Spectators numbered in the thousands. Mrs Rae led the Reds, and Barbara Rae the Blues, from the tent:two by two, arms linked – one pink one blue – backs straight, heads held high. They were greeted with loud applause. The women assembled on the ground in their teams: their ability for organisation further impressing the crowd.

A report by the Bendigo Advertiser on 8 April best covers the entire match and offers a clear sense of pride in the players.

THE LADIES’ CRICKET MATCH.

Bendigo Advertiser, 8 April 1874

It certainly required a very considerable amount of courage on the part of the ladies to undertake to play a cricket match in public. The thing was unprecedented as far as Australia was concerned, and such a remarkable event as a ladies’ cricket match has seldom happened, even in the old country—the home of cricket. The cause in which they were engaged however—that of “heavenborn charity”—over-came all scruples, and they came nobly forward to aid the destitute and the suffering.

Sandhurst has the honor of turning out the first twenty-two lady cricketers, and from the exhibition of their capabilities yesterday in this new field of love’s labor they have added an additional charm to the game of cricket, and shown that, as a healthy exercise, it is alike fitted for the gentler as for the sterner sex. The match was originated in aid of the funds of the hospital and asylum, and the large crowd of spectators who gathered yesterday to witness it evinced an amount of public interest in it far beyond what was expected.

For some weeks past the ladies had been practising the game on the Back Creek Cricket Ground, kindly placed at their disposal by the B.U.C.C., and the progress which they made was astonishing, for they picked up the points of the game with wonderful aptitude.

At first it was expected that they should play in the Bloomer costume, as being less likely to interfere with their freedom of movement than any other, but the innovation was considered too startling for a British community, and the idea was given up in favour of an attire of the ordinary shaped dress, made of calico, with a colored jacket to distinguish the respective sides. These dresses the ladies purpose handing over as gifts to the charities. The game was intended to be played on the Back Creek Cricket ground, but unforeseen circumstances prevented it taking place there, and it was played in the Camp Reserve.

At one o’clock the ladies, in full costume, arrived in three carriages. The wickets were pitched in one of the crosswalks by the umpires—Mr. J. Latham and Mr. John Glen who officiated in the absence of the Hon. A. Mackay. Everything being in readiness, the ladies—the one side wearing red Garibaldi jackets and sailors’ hats; and the other blue jackets and similar hats—marched in pairs—red and blue being linked together—from the tent into the field, headed by respective captains—Mrs. Rae for the Reds, and Miss B. Rae for the Blues.

Their appearance was very pretty and picturesque; and they were loudly applauded by the onlookers. It was suddenly discovered that though the ladies had brought bats and wickets, they had forgotten the ball, but this little difficulty was got over by one of the umpires producing one of Duke’s best. The respective captains having tossed for innings it was decided that the Reds should go to the bat and they secured a total of 62 runs before the last wicket fell.

The highest scorer was Miss Kate Petrie who obtained 27 runs. This young lady not only acquitted herself well with the bat, but she trundled the ball with effect. Miss Nellie Rae distinguished herself by smart fielding, effecting a capital catch by which a good bat, Miss Clay, was got rid of. Miss J. Murdoch proved herself a first rate bowler. After the lapse of half an hour the Reds took the field, and they put their opponents out for 83 runs. Miss B. Rae was top scorer, with 36 not out; while Miss Gerber scored 10; and besides did good execution with the ball, bowling underhand with precision, and lowering six wickets. Miss Clay caught out Miss Luthwhyte by a splendid left-hand catch, which evoked tremendous applause, and brought the innings to a close. One innings each only was played, and victory therefore rested with the Blues. Mr. Coffin acted as scorer. When the ladies had assembled in the booth Mr. Abbott, chairman of the hospital committee, thanked the ladies for the successful effort which they had made on behalf of the charities, and the gentlemen present sang “They are jolly good fellows.” Mrs. Rae, on behalf of the ladies, replied, stating that the ladies had thoroughly enjoyed the game, and had the utmost gratification in knowing that their efforts had been productive of a substantial addition to the funds of the charities.

Annexed is the score:—

The Garibaldi Jacket

The Garibaldi Jacket

THE REDS.

Mrs. Rae (capt.), b Gerber. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4

Miss K.Petrie, run out . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .27

Miss N. Rae, b Gerber . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .6

Miss J. Murdoch, b Gerber . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7

Miss L. Williams, b Gerber . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5

Miss E. Carr, b B. Rae . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .1

Mrs Hoffner, b Gerber . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .3

Miss A. Williams, run out . . . . . . . . . . . . . .2

Mrs. Leeds, not out . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .4

Miss R. Shalders, b Gerber . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

Miss Luthwhyte, c Clay, b Gerber . . . . . . . . . 0

No ball, 1; bye, 1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .2

Total. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .62

 

 

 

THE BLUES.

Bowl the Maidens Over cover

Bowl the Maidens Over cover

Miss Richardson, b K. Petrie . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2

Miss Carpenter, b K. Petrie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6

Miss C. Shalders, b K. Petrie . . . . . . . . . . . .1

Miss Clay, c N. Rae, b K. Petrie . . . . . . . . . .0

Miss A. Petrie, b Murdoch. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

Miss B. Rae (cap.), not out . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36

Miss E. Gerber, c K. Petrie, b N. Rae . . . . .10

Miss Wiseman, b K. Petrie . . . . . . . . . . . . . .6

Miss Westhead, h w, b Mrs. Rae . . . . . . . . . . 8

Miss M. Bell, b J. Murdoch . . . . . . . . . . . . .8

Mrs. Drought, b J. Murdoch . . . . . . . . . . . .0

Byes 3, wides 2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .5

Total. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .83

 

 

Bowl the Maidens Over will be released in June 2021.

You can pre-order at https://louisezeddasampson.com.au/shop/bowl-the-maidens-over/

Keep an eye out for event announcements at https://louisezeddasampson.com.au/

 

A Circus Load of Inspiration

The Last Circus on Earth leapt out of my reading pile last year and filled me with that rarest commodity of 2020: delight. You can see my review here.

Today author Ben Marshall is treating us to his take on inspiration, and a Fabulous Extract from the novel.

I know you’re going to enjoy this!

Welcome to the blog, Ben. Can you tell us what most inspires you?:

Ben: Connections inspire me. Between people, nature and ideas.

Lichen photographed by Ben near Loongana in Tasmania

Lichen photographed by Ben near Loongana in Tasmania

Science, art and gardening are three great ways to connect.

Also pubs.

I guess pubs are actually places of connection, so I see a theme.

Now for our special treat: an extract from The Last Circus on Earth. The story is told by Blanco, a surprisingly likeable killer … Yes, I know! But I truly do love him 🙂

 

In Blanco’s Words:

Strombo smiled at the Gaffer; a nasty smile what promised nothing but bad stuff for Sparrow. ‘I’ll give her a test run, eh?’
Which is when I lost it.

Later on, Madam Tracey explained to me I got what the head doctors call ‘impulse control problems’. But when she said it, there was a hint of a smile in her voice, like she approved but couldn’t let herself show it. Don’t get me wrong, I know what I done was stupid, but that’s what comes of no sleep, no food, murdering people, dealing with psychopaths, and having the girl you like kiss you.

Strombo didn’t know what hit him. Me—with a punch that had my heart and soul in it. For a big bloke he stayed upright what seemed like a long time. But his eyes were glazed over and all of us could see he wasn’t with us no more. Like a big tree chopped at the base, he slowly toppled, and everyone jumped out of the way because Strombo’s big enough to kill you even when he’s unconscious. Time sped up again as the Gaffer turned, knuckle-duster in place, and threw a feint with his right before launching the metal with his left. Normally, I’d let him graze me, then roll myself up for the beating. But this time I was angry in a way I never been before, and I let my reflexes do their thing. I sidestepped, drove a fist into his solar plexus, brought me shoulder up into his chin and finished him off with a Glasgow kiss.

Madam Tracey’s jaw dropped, the Professoré’s eyebrows went up and stayed up, and Mala and Milosh looked impressed—and like they were ready to finish me off if it came to it.

As the Gaffer hit the deck, I dropped my fists, opened up my stance and looked into Milosh’s eyes. ‘If anyone ever looked the wrong way at Mala, would you do any different?’
In the split second it would’ve taken him to bury a blade in me, he didn’t. Milosh don’t hesitate when there’s trouble—he’s in there and it’s all over. This time he just shook his head. ‘You just make bad trouble.’
I shrugged and walked away. ‘Trouble’s me middle bleedin’ name.’

I finished my prep and sat with the rest of the freaks, waiting for the axe to fall. We all agreed I’d basically given myself two choices—do a runner, or stay and be killed. If I stayed, the Gaffer would put me in the circle with Strombo for a straight-up bare-knuckle fight. Then it’d be on until someone—me—got beaten into a coma.
There’s a code, see. You do a colleague an injury like what I did to Strombo and the Gaffer, and there’s consequences. It’s like an old-fashioned duel except you’re tied together, and instead of a neat bullet hole I’d have Strombo’s ham-like fists tenderising my skinny body into sausage meat.
I cuddled Daisy, letting her lick the cold sweat off my face, and considered my fate. Baba Yaga brought me a concoction she said would clear my mind, which it didn’t, but Moineau—Sparrow—come in all done up for her Nightingale act looking right serious.
‘Madam Tracey tells me what you just done.’
I shrugged, brain jammed with misery and fear—not for me but her. ‘You need to run, Sparrow. Tonight. Now.’
‘Madam Tracey said otherwise.’
‘You’re not safe here.’
‘Nor you, you big pillock. Always looking after other geezers, you are. Which proves you is a diamond geezer and worth likin’. A lot.’
I kept looking away, stroking Daisy, who was cheerfully chewing my thumb. I couldn’t answer Sparrow because she made my head spin.
She kneeled and looked up into my dial. ‘You been protecting me. Now it’s time I helped you.’
‘You can’t, Sparrow. I’m done for. If not this time, the next.’
‘Listen—I been stuck inside this head of mine watching and listening. And what I don’t know about the people in this circus in’t worth knowing. I also know you in’t just strong in here.’ She thumped my chest. ‘You is smart up here.’ She tapped the side of my head. ‘And people likes you—even if you is a misery sometimes—because you care. It’s inside of you to look after other people. You can’t help it. So maybe it’s time to see Splinter again—get him to sort things for you, so we can start working on a new Steering Committee.’
I looked up, startled, and the freaks, all listening intently, looked to each other. They were shocked by what she said, but not so shocked they were shutting her down. Baba, Erik and Methuselah nodded first, then Elasto, Lobby and Dislocato followed suit.
‘You’re all madder than me,’ I said. ‘You’d be cutting your own throats going against them lot.’
Methuselah cleared his throat. ‘Splinter is mortal and will, or so you tell us, die sooner rather than later. The Gaffer will then become a power greater than he already is, but without Splinter to check his excesses.’
Baba Yaga nodded. ‘The Gaffer rules by fear. I don’t like.’
‘He’s already in the top job, if you ask me,’ I argued. ‘He does Splinter’s evil will, so he might be a better Gaffer when Splinter’s dead.’
Sparrow snorted. ‘Either way, you won’t be around to see it if you don’t sort this beef you got with him and Strombo. You need to talk to Mister Splinter.’
I shook my head. ‘Nothing short of a gun in me back could make me go in there and face him again.’

A minute later, there I am, standing on the steps of Splinter’s caravan, Sparrow prodding me in the back. ‘Go on, Blanco. What’s the worst thing what can happen?’

***

Isn’t that marvellous? Whatever is happening, the wry, sassy voice of Blanco makes me smile.

Thank you so much Ben for sharing.

The Last Circus on Earth by BP Marshall

The Last Circus on Earth by BP Marshall

Now here are some links that you’ll love to follow up

benmarshallwriter.com
http://briobooks.com.au/booklist/lastcircus
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/54584809-the-last-circus-on-earth

Dream Big and Read Often says Melissa Wray

Melissa Wray finds time to write stories, usually late at night, when the rest of the household is quiet. She’s a mother of two, a teacher and lover of walks along the beach. Her new young adult novel, The Ruby Locket, is a dystopian novel that unfolds through the eyes of the two main characters.

Kerina and Saxon. Two different stories. Two different lives. One connected future.

Great to speak with you, Melissa, and to find out more about what’s behind your writing. What was your favourite book as a child?

Melissa: The Enchanted Wood and The Magic Faraway Tree by Enid Blyton. I loved these characters and desperately wanted the giant plum tree in our back yard to become the Magic Faraway tree. I would sit still for as long as possible, hoping to capture a glimpse of Silky or Moonface!

That makes perfect sense! What about creative writing courses – do you think they are valuable?

Absolutely! The key is finding one that suits your needs. There are many courses, both online and in person that an emerging writer can complete. Keep an eye out through your local writer organisation e.g. Writers Victoria or Geelong Writers Inc. Or subscribe to a writing industry newsletter such as Buzz Words or Pass It On. Both are valuable sources for courses, writing advice, and submissions. Both of these are excellent value for money.

I totally agree with that. There’s always more to learn … or re-learn! Do you write for yourself or for a particular audience?

I write whatever I feel interested in telling a story about. I have written stories suited to all age groups, from a picture story book to middle grade fiction through to a young adult audience. The genres have ranged from contemporary to historical fiction through to dystopian. I like to challenge myself in life whether it be at work or play and writing is no different.

A born story-teller, then! Are there any secrets hidden in your writing?

Of course! Bryce Courtenay, one of my favourite Australian writers, once said “I take a fact and put a top hat on it, and a silk shirt and a bow tie, but I don’t ruin the fact.” I love this quote and try to include some secrets into my writing. It gives me a thrill that only I know what those parallels to real life are.

That’s good to know. What’s your writing goal for the next twelve months?

I have one novel that is about 75% complete. I haven’t worked on it for some time so would like to revisit the characters and storyline to see if I can finish the story. To do this I need to keep a balance between my work, family, social and writing life. Quite a precarious balance!

Cover image: The Ruby Locket by Melissa Wray

The Ruby Locket by Melissa Wray

Yes! Mix all that and add a pandemic…Did you have a big break in writing? What happened?

My debut novel, Destiny Road, was published through Morris Publishing. I entered the first four chapters into a writing competition with them. It was shortlisted and I then had to submit the whole manuscript. From this, Destiny Road was selected for publication. This was a huge break for me! It gave me a boost in confidence that can be far between for writers, especially new ones.

I imagine it would. That’s fabulous. Now that your books are out there, how do you feel about reviews?

Mixed. It is uncomfortable knowing someone is reading your story and forming an opinion about it. Stories can take years to write and even longer to get published. The writing process takes commitment to writing and editing and hoping the characters are built well and the storyline works. Somebody can cut the story to pieces with a bad review or they can build you up with a good review. Both are equally terrifying to learn what people think.

And it’s completely out of your hands. Quite terrifying! What’s the best response you’ve ever had to your writing?

One reviewer wrote the following review for Destiny Road and it still makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

“Wray has managed to write with absolute brutal honesty that very easily could have become too confronting- especially for those that have undergone a similar situation. The timing is perfect. You have time to catch your breath when needed without ever compromising the flow. In fact, the novel has such a polished feel I was surprised this was indeed her debut novel into the published world.”

That’s perfect. What would readers never guess about you?

My sense of adventure and the need to live a fulfilled life. I once slept in the middle of the Egyptian desert beneath the night sky after travelling all day on a camel. It sounds like a crazy thing to do now, but I love that I have this memory. I don’t want to look back one day on my life and wish I had made different choices.

 I would never have pictured you on a camel, that’s for sure. What would be a dream come true for you?

That’s easy. My book gets made into a movie and I have a cameo role in it. How much fun would that be?!

The Ruby Locket in multiple formats

The Ruby Locket by Melissa Wray

 

LOL! That would be wonderful. Thanks for speaking with me today, Melissa, and all the best with the launch of The Ruby Locket

 

Melissa’s LINKS:

Website: https://melissawray.blogspot.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DreamBigReadOften/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6465945.Melissa_Wray

 

Buy Links

Odyssey Books: https://www.odysseybooks.com.au/

The Ruby Locket: https://www.odysseybooks.com.au/titles/9781922311245/

 

The Stars and Anzac Day

This week, we will mark Anzac Day in Australia and New Zealand. For the first time in over a century, there will be no attending official services. The pandemic changes how we mark historic events, just as it changes how we celebrate or grieve personal events. I’m aiming to be up at 6am next Saturday, to watch dawn from my front garden and to think about the enduring legacy of war, and how world events affect us here Down Under.

Just in time, there is a fabulous new review of my WWI Anzac story.

My heartfelt thanks to Baffled Bear Books for this brilliant, thoughtful review of The Stars in the Night.

The Stars in the Night is indeed a tale of enduring love. This review is well worth a read. I’m very grateful to find such wonderful readers!

https://baffledbearbooks.com/2020/04/18/stars-in-the-night-by-clare-rhoden-a-story-of-broken-lives-and-enduring-love/

Christine Bell, No Small Shame

Christine Bell’s historical novel No Small Shame has just been released, making hers the first fully online book launch of my experience. Christine has 35 short fiction books published for children including picture story, chapter book and YA titles. Her short stories have won national writing competitions and been published in various anthologies. No Small Shame tells the story of immigrant Mary O’Donnell who arrives in Australia on the brink of WWI. Meticulously researched though it is, the story’s strongest points are its engaging and relatable characters.

No Small Shame by Christine Bell

No Small Shame by Christine Bell

Welcome, Christine, and congratulations on the excellent reception of No Small Shame. Thank you for sharing some words with me today. Let’s see what set you off on your writing journey. What was your favourite book as a child?

Christine: When I was in grade four, our teacher Miss Yule possessed the most beautiful illustrated story book I’d ever seen. It was a large, full colour book called Best Scandinavian Fairy Tales. Every couple of days she would read from our current story and hold up the divine full-page illustrations. Once a week, a child was allowed the very special privilege of taking the precious book home overnight to read. It seemed an interminable wait until it was my turn. I could barely breathe for excitement that evening while I turned the pages and read as much as I could. Later, I read surreptitiously by torchlight, carefully turning the pages under the sheet. It broke my heart when at the end of the term, Miss Yule left our class to get married, taking her beautiful story book with her and depriving me of a second overnight read. I’ve never forgotten that book.

Scandinavian Folk & Fairy Tales

And never forgiven Miss Yule, no doubt. Or those conventions that made marriage and teaching incompatible! Are there any secrets hidden in your writing?

There are no secrets as such, but there are always guns on the wall. Small moments that may not mean much at the time of writing, but must inevitably have a purpose. I have a scene in No Small Shame, aboard ship, where Mary is forced to have her hair cut off due to a plague of nits. The scene shows the conflict with her mother, but Mary’s hair also comes to have a deep symbolism throughout the novel. When I first wrote the scene, it was more to show shipboard life and I was concerned in the early drafts if it was earning its place. But as the novel progressed, Mary’s hair became a metaphor that echoes right to the final scene.

Guns on the wall! Eek! What’s the best response you’ve ever had to your writing?

Just before No Small Shame was officially released, a writer friend emailed me from the bookshop carpark after getting caught up reading it. She emailed again, a day later, half-way through, to say how much she was loving it, and that I’d painted such a picture with words and drawn the characters so well that she felt she knew them. The next day she contacted me to say that she’d cried through the final five chapters, loved the book, and how could we get it made into a movie. It’s an author’s dream to have a reader connect so emotionally to your story and to have it come alive in their mind.

That’s wonderful feedback. Do you write full time?

I write virtually full time. My children have all grown up and left home, and I’m most fortunate to have the financial support of a partner. Royalties from my many children’s short fiction titles, together with my annual PLR and ELR payments* help financially too, even all these years after the titles were published. I work in our business part-time too, but the majority of days I can be found at my writing desk.

*Note: public and electronic lending rights, from when books are borrowed from libraries. Note 2: Support authors! Borrow books from libraries!

Excellent! Is it easy for you to meet other writers?

I’ve had lots of opportunities to meet many fellow writers through writing groups, events, conferences, masterclasses and workshops. I’ve also completed two tertiary qualifications, including a Master of Creative Writing, where I met writers who’ve become good friends. I also served as the Assistant Co-ordinator for the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators Vic (SCBWI) for five years where I made a lot of friends and connections in the kid-lit community. I’ve connected with lots of writers through Facebook and Twitter. My social media is predominantly all about writing, publishing, books, and related topics, and I’ve always found the online writing community incredibly supportive and friendly.

I agree, the #WritingCommunity is great. Where do you write?

My office looks over our rather lovely, tranquil back garden where I can hear the birds, see them playing in the bird bath, and watch the change of seasons. A couple of years ago, after a spinal surgery, I purchased an electric standing desk and combined with another long desk, it forms a fabulous L-shaped workspace. One full wall is floor-to-ceiling white bookshelves, and, adding a red filing cabinet and splashes of red on the bookshelves and desk, I have a bit of a colour theme going. The wall opposite features a huge framed map of the Somme, the setting of my current work-in-progress; plus a large original illustration from my children’s book, Snozza; a messy corkboard of memorabilia and treasured mementoes; as well as various artefacts related to my current work . It’s a lovely space that I had such fun decorating to truly inspire and reflect what I’m writing.

Do you have launch parties for your books?

I never had a launch party for my children’s books, so I was very excited to plan an instore event at Readings Hawthorn to release No Small Shame. It was rather a large shame that the event was cancelled due to Covid-19, but I quickly became aware of the possibility of launching the book online, via Facebook. I was still very keen for acclaimed author and writing buddy Alison Goodman to launch the book. This was a little problematic since we were to be in separate houses due to this time of isolation. We decided that a pre-recorded launch was probably the only way to go. I really wanted a live, spontaneous component though. But even as I advertised it, I wondered if the live stream would work. Short story, with a little tech advice and after a practice mock event, it worked very well and No Small Shame was launched on the 2nd April. I was really thrilled that I was able to see so many friends, family and fellows present in the event comments, questions and congratulations. For anyone who’d like to view the launch, I’ll include the Youtube links: Book launch https://youtu.be/LHXC4OJvKTI. Live stream https://youtu.be/c4sJ9vamIzI.

Ooh, and readers can have a little look at your writing office on the YouTube link! Thanks, Christine; I’m very much looking forward to reading No Small Shame, and to your next book, which is also set around the time of the First World War.

Christine’s links:

Website:              https://christinebell.com.au

Twitter:                https://twitter.com/chrisbellwrites

Facebook:            https://www.facebook.com/chris.bell.77377

Instagram:           https://www.instagram.com/christinembell

Book links:

Readings: https://www.readings.com.au/products/30505748/no-small-shame

Dymocks: https://www.dymocks.com.au/book/no-small-shame-by-christine-bell-9781920727901

Booktopia: https://www.booktopia.com.au/no-small-shame-christine-bell/book/9781920727901.html

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com.au/No-Small-Shame-choice-forever-ebook/dp/B07WQYNC2G

Michelle Saftich, leaving home behind

Michelle Saftich writes engaging stories whenever she puts pen to paper – er, fingers to keyboard. Her historical novels ring very true, and the first, Port of No Return, was inspired by the experiences of her father’s family who fled northern Italy at the end of World War II, as the region was invaded by Tito’s Yugoslavian forces. The sequel, Wanderers No More, continues to follow the family’s journey, beginning with their arrival in Australia in 1950. Both these novels are highly rated.

Port of No Return by Michelle Saftich

Port of No Return by Michelle Saftich

More recently, Michelle has released The Hatch, a science fiction novel which I have recently read and reviewed (here). In The Hatch, all Michelle’s trademark insights into human nature, family interactions, and political machinations are transported thrillingly into deep space.

I’m so thrilled to speak with Michelle today on Last Word of the Week.

Thanks for talking with me, Michelle. You have three books out now – what are your thoughts on novel writing?

Michelle: It’s no small undertaking. A novel takes a long time to write. I know I’ll be with the story and its characters for at least a couple of years. For me, it helps having stories and characters that are close to my heart and that I feel have something to say or show. It’s about love, creativity and discipline.

Wanderers No More by Michelle Saftich

Wanderers No More by Michelle Saftich

What are the challenges of being a writer?

Finding enough time. Working almost full-time in a communications job and being married and raising two boys, with an abundance of pets, there’s so little time free for writing. Every spare minute goes into it. I write in the car in carparks or sitting on the floor of foyers, waiting to pick up my boys from extracurricular activities. I edit or write next pages in my mind on the train going to work, where I scribble down notes to myself as reminders. When I finally set aside a whole Sunday afternoon to write, the joy as I lift the lid on my laptop can’t be described. It is bliss. It is coming home. It’s time to be me and to create. I can’t imagine a life without writing.

And yet, it is not easy. There are other challenges. Marketing. Reviews. Solitude, and the need for a lot of it during the writing process. Self-criticism. Doubt. Fear. Redrafts. Rewriting. Then finally the sadness when it’s done and there are characters to farewell, characters who won’t say another word. Then it’s time to put them out there, like birth. And like a parent, the writer gets to watch how they take those first steps in the hands of others. That’s the hardest for me. Releasing.

It sounds very difficult when you put it like that. I find it very sad when my characters no longer interrupt my dreams saying “And another thing I want to do or say is…”  Given all that, why write?

There are times when I wonder why I do it. Why write? Why tie up so much time in bringing to life a story? The answer is simple, I love it. I love creating with words, using my imagination, challenging myself. I first knew I wanted to write at age six. At age 15, I was starting to try my hand at novels. Always writing. Weekends mostly.

You have written in different genres, which is something I do too. What’s that like for you?

When I wrote my first two published historical fiction novels, Port of No Return and Wanderers No More, I was drawing upon family history, my heritage and the mysteries surrounding my father’s place of birth. I wanted to know more and found it enjoyable to research what happened to not only my father and his family, but to all those forced to flee their Italian cities in the north-east of the country after World War II. I was shining a light on a little-known part of history and my motivation was strong and somewhat personal.

My third published sci fi novel, The Hatch, is very different from the first two, though some themes are similar. I still have written about the prospect of having to leave all you know behind for another place, though in The Hatch readers are taken off planet and forward into an imagined future, rather than into a researched past.

The Hatch by Michelle Saftich

The Hatch by Michelle Saftich

With the historical fiction novels, I tried staying true to historical events, while bringing in fictional elements to help tie it all together and to present a flowing narrative.

With sci-fi, I was fully in my imagination, speculating on a future Earth and what human aspects we would migrate with us if we were to settle on other planets.

And you have managed that brilliantly. Thank you so much for sharing with me today.

 

Michelle’s Links:

Website: https://michellesaftich.com

Twitter: @MichelleSaftich

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14175416.Michelle_Saftich

Odyssey Books: https://www.odysseybooks.com.au/titles/9781925652857/

Aunt Jodie’s not-so-little secret

Jordan Bell is a psychologist and educator with a passion for helping children and parents learn about science. She also has a not-so-secret super-hero identity: she is Aunt Jodie of Aunt Jodie’s Guides to (just about) Everything!

Jordan’s first book, Aunt Jodie’s Guide to Evolution, gives kids a fun and fascinating understanding of the key concepts underlying the theory of evolution, using REAL science. It’s perfect for parents who want to inspire a love of science in children (7-11 year olds) or to start a child’s science education early. It’s especially useful for parents who would like their kids to have more female role models in science.

Definitely on board with that, I say (tucking my B App Sci into my back pocket with a happy sigh).

Author Jordan Bell

Author Jordan Bell

Welcome, Jordan, and thanks for speaking with me on this episode of Last Word of the Week. Can you tell us a bit more about you and your books?

Jordan: As a nerdy mama to a curious primary-schooler who always wants to understand the “why?” of life, I have had lots of experience in putting complicated ideas into words that little brains can understand.

So what is Aunt Jodie’s Guide to Evolution?

It’s not just another boring bedtime story! It’s a science adventure into the ancient past that makes learning about the basics of evolution fun and engaging, and uses words and concepts that are right for kids in middle and upper primary school. For anyone new to science, my Aunt Jodie’s Guides also include an easy-to-read glossary, explaining the scientific terms used in the book and how to pronounce them.

Sounds great. Now let’s find out a bit more about you. What was your favourite book as a child?

My favourite book as a child was The Neverending Story by Michael Ende. Not only is it an amazing tale about the power of stories, but also such a spell-binding title to a child who constantly begged for yet another trip to the library – a book that never ended? Sign me up! My dad bought me a really beautiful hardback edition when it was first released in English, which was printed in red and green ink with illustrated chapter initials. That exact copy was lost to the mists of time but my husband tracked down a copy for me a few years ago and I treasure it. I’ll be reading it to my daughter this year!

A book that deserves to be a lifetime favourite! Do you have a go-to routine for writing?

I’m most productive when I have a morning to myself and I can take my laptop to my favourite café, fuel up on french toast and tea, and write for 3-4 hours. They are used to me doing this now and top up my teapot without asking. I can write anywhere as long as I have half an hour and a computer, but that’s my preferred routine.

That sounds like the perfect writing space, and writers should always have a ready supply of French toast and tea. How do you feel about reviews?

I love them! I would really like some more! Having said that, if there’s anyone out there who hasn’t appreciated my book, they haven’t chosen to share those thoughts with me, so my experiences have all been positive at this stage. I might feel differently after some critical feedback!

What’s the best response you’ve ever had to your writing?

The greatest review I ever got was from the son of a friend:
“I thought the book was fantastic. I learnt lots, I never got bored and never wanted to stop reading it, it was very clear and it’s also a very fun way to put it. I would rate this book 5 stars and I normally pick out every single fault.”

But I’ve had lots of people excited about the idea of a book about evolution for children, it seems like a book that is needed out there in the world!

Aunt Jodies Guide_Cover Print

Yes indeed! What kind of reader would like your books?

I write Aunt Jodie’s Guides for primary-school aged kids, to help them get their heads around big scientific ideas that will have an impact on their life. I started with explaining evolution, because I think that’s the kind of idea that — if you can understand it as you are growing and learning — will change the way you view the world. We desperately need future citizens who are well-informed about the science that underpins our natural and technological worlds, and I think kids are a capable of understanding a lot more than we give them credit for, if we explain it properly.

Hear, hear! Is it easy for readers to find your book/s?

Anyone who searches Aunt Jodie’s Guide should find my online store pretty easily, and the bookshops that have stocked me so far have been very generous about displaying my book face out so hopefully a few people have stumbled across it that way!

That’s great, let’s hope for more stumbles. What would be a dream come true for you?

I’d love to have my book picked up as a series by a publisher with the scope to share these ideas worldwide and maybe even in other languages! I’m currently working on Aunt Jodie’s Guide to Climate Change, and I have strong ideas for more books in the series as Aunt Jodie explains the human body, space science, and computers!

All books that I think need to be in the world as soon as possible. Please keep writing! And thank you so much for sharing with me today.

 

Aunt Jodie’s links:

https://www.facebook.com/AuntJodiesGuides/

www.auntjodiesguide.com

Twitter:  @AuntJodiesGuide

Best online buying link: www.gumroad.com/jordanbell

 

Laura E Goodin, vintage adventure and cracking characters

Laura E Goodin’s first novel After the Bloodwood Staff is one of the most enjoyable reads I have ever encountered in quite a long and industrious reading career.

I’m a devotee of vintage adventure fiction and, let’s face it, adventure underpins many stories that are classified into other genres.

After the Bloodwood Staff is a treat. It’s witty and engaging, with cracking characters, and it takes the genre by the scruff of the neck and upends it with some panache.

If you love the kind of mystery, danger and excitement that infuses Sherlock Holmes, Agatha Christie, the Murdoch Mysteries, and Shakespeare & Hathaway, you will adore Laura’s books.*

In today’s Last Word of the Week, I have an early Christmas present for you: an extract from the novel. Meet two of my favourite all-time characters: the sedentary, impractical Hoyle and the irritable, no-nonsense Sybil.

And if you’re looking for a different kind of present for that special reader in your life, follow the links. It’s not too late!

After the Bloodwood Staff by Laura E Goodin

Chapter 1: In Which Hoyle Meets an Adventurer

The bookstore was a barn of a place. Hoyle thought it might have been an actual barn at one point, judging from the smell that underlay the scents of musty paper, old leather, and expensive coffee. He’d driven an hour from the DC suburbs to get here; a post on his favorite adventure-fiction forum had recommended it as a good source for overlooked authors. And he needed a change of scene. The pile of what looked like sawdust pellets that he’d found in a corner of the garage last week had filled him with a vague but relentless dread that somewhere in his house lurked a brood of termites. He’d been trying to get the nerve up to phone somebody for days. The dread had swooped again as soon as he had woken up. But it was Sunday. Can’t do anything about it today, he had thought almost jauntily. The bookstore would be the ideal distraction.

He could feel his mood lifting as he wandered along the first aisle, turning from dull worry to the bright eagerness of the hunt. He knew the look of the books he wanted; he almost didn’t have to read the spines anymore.

Oh, that one looked about right. He reached, and his hand was knocked aside by a painful swat.

“I saw it first,” snapped the woman who’d hit him. Her was hair slightly grey, like his. She was significantly shorter, but stocky enough to put a bit of sting in the swat.

“What the hell?” he cried. But she was already striding toward the cash register.

Hoyle felt a wave of loss and frustration. He rushed to the register. “Hey,” he called to the woman as she finished paying and carefully placed the book in her tote bag. “Hey, wait.” She gave him an annoyed look over her shoulder. “Please,” he said. He caught up to her. “Please. Just let me see what it was. I didn’t even get a chance …”

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She hesitated, then drew the book out. After the Bloodwood Staff, by C.G. Ingraham. The cover was a faded mustard color, the title printed in an enticing Art Nouveau font. Without thinking, he ran one finger gently across the cover, feeling the rough cloth, and the slightly smoother lines of the title. The woman did not pull the book away.

“Ingraham,” murmured Hoyle. “Never heard of this one.”

“Fabulous stuff,” she said. “He was a bit of a maverick. Not many of them wrote about Australia. It was all Africa this and South America that and the South Sea Islands the other. I’ve been looking for this one forever.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry I was so rude.”

“That’s okay,” he said. On an impulse, he added, “Coffee?”

They stared at each other for a moment.

“Thanks,” she said.

Hoyle and the woman placed their orders at the cafe counter and looked for a table.

“There,” Hoyle said. “You go grab it.”

After The Bloodwood Staff by Laura E Goodin
After The Bloodwood Staff by Laura E Goodin

Once he had the coffees, he twisted and shuffled through the chairs, holding the coffees at head height to keep his elbows safe from jostling. He had an uncomfortable feeling that raising his arms like this made him look paunchy. When he got to the table, he set the coffees down and sat.

“I’m Hoyle,” he said.

“What’s your first name?”

“That is my first name.”

“Your parents named you Hoyle?”

“Well, what’s your name?”

“Sybil.”

They sipped, not quite companionably. She kept glancing at him, then away, as if she were expecting something from him.

“So, um, you read a lot of adventure?” he ventured at last. Oh, God, what a stupid thing to say.

“Since I was little,” she said. “My grandfather got me started on one of Mundy’s novels.”

King, of the Khyber Rifles?”

She sat back, astonished. “How did you guess?”

Hoyle shrugged, feeling bashful. “It’s my favorite of his, that’s all. Thought maybe your grandfather might have felt the same.”

“What’s your favorite Conan Doyle?”

“I confess it’s the Brigadier Gerard stories.”

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed. Just because they’re obscure, doesn’t mean they’re not good.”

On the strength of this, he said, “Tell me about Ingraham.”

Sybil leant forward, suddenly eager. “It’s such a sad story. He spent years of his life as a sort of groupie of Conan Doylefollowed him around from one speaking engagement to another, never getting up the courage to introduce himself or even write Conan Doyle a letter. He did write Haggard once, in 1899at least, Haggard’s reply was found in Ingraham’s papers, although Haggard seems to have thrown out Ingraham’s letter. Typical.”

“What did Haggard say?”

Sybil closed her eyes. “‘My dear sir, your suggestion is entirely untenableindeed, bordering on the insaneand I trust you will seek out competent assistance. Please do not contact me or anyone associated with me again.'” She opened her eyes and took a sip of coffee. “That was all. What in the world could Ingraham have suggested? I’ve been reading his books for clues. He was prolific, toonearly thirty-five by the time he died. He starved himself to death. He’d become convinced that an evil parasite lived in his liver and the only way to kill it before it propagated was to starve itand, by necessity, himself.”

“Wow,” said Hoyle, feeling queasy.

“Oh, yes, you can look up the case study.”

“Was he English?”

“No, American, believe it or not.”

“I take it you’re doing a PhD on him or something?”

She blinked. “Oh, no. No.”

“But you know so much about him.”

“It’s a mystery, that’s all,” she said, suddenly irritable. “I want to know what his suggestion was.”

“Ah,” he said.

“That’s why I needed this book. It’s one of the last three I didn’t have. I’d checked out online sellers, everything. When I saw you reaching for it  …  sorry.”

“That’s okay.”

“Will it help make up for it if I let you in on a secret?”

“Really, it’s okay—”

She lowered her voice. “There is evidence that Ingraham travelled to Australia in the 1890s.” She sat back with an air of having given him something for which he should be very grateful.

“Wow,” he said again, somewhat more weakly.

She frowned. “Of course, wow. Youdon’t get the connection?”

“Nope.” He started drinking his coffee as quickly as he could.

“His letter to Haggard was written in 1899.”

“Okay.”

“Ugh! I’m glad I did nab Bloodwood, it would have been wasted on you. He’d found something in Australia and he wanted to mount a second expedition.”

Something in her voice made Hoyle say, “Whatever it was can’t possibly be there now. It’s been, what, over a hundred years?”

“Do you think I should go and find out? Or that I shouldn’t?”

“Well, it’s none of my business, is it?”

“Because if you’re thinking that I’m just a middle-aged woman who should stay home with her cats and her book club for a couple of decades until it’s time to go into a hospice and die, then you can just think again.”

“No! No, of course not, no, sorry.” The silence descended again. She finished her coffee and stood up.

Hoyle stood as well. “It’s been a pleasure talking with you.”

“Oh, no it hasn’t. Don’t patronize me. Oh, and thanks for the coffee.” He watched her go, then went back to the shelves. There was an unpleasant, dogged feel to his browsing now, but it was not entirely fruitless: he found a couple of Talbot Mundys he’d been looking for, and, over in the kids’ section, a copy of Richard Halliburton’s Complete Book of Marvels. He bought it, even though he had three copies already; there were nephews and nieces, and Christmas was less than two months away. The oldest of them was almost too old now for the book, and, to be frank, too interested in black nail polish, but maybe there was still time to instill a love of adventure.

Not that Hoyle himself had ever been on an adventure. In fact, he’d devoted a fair bit of effort over the years to arranging a calm life. A job that suited him, if it didn’t inspire him. A few friends, whom he saw at comfortable intervals. His sisters’ kids, when he wanted someone to give something to. The thought of trudging through a jungle somewhere, picking leeches off his privates and drinking blood from a cut on the neck of his packhorse to stay alive

Sybil, thoughshe seemed raring to go. Maybe she would go to Australia, find Ingraham’s secretor something else entirely. A thousand possibilities, straight out of a thousand musty books with frayed and mottled covers.

He drove home past the endless rows of bland, northern Virginia strip malls and office buildings, fast-food places and office-supply stores. What kind of adventures could he have here? Finding the best price on red peppers at the supermarket? Crossing the street to avoid a group of sullen teenagers?

He pulled into his driveway, got out of his car, and went inside. Sunday afternoons were for reading. But today he couldn’t settle in. Tea, then doing the breakfast dishes, then checking email, then more tea, then filing a few bills, then a walk to the convenience store for some milk, then more tea. After each task, he tried again to engross himself in one of the books he’d just bought. Each time, he was overwhelmed by the need to walk, to straighten, to do. He kept finding reasons to think of Australia.

Laura’s Links:

Email: info@lauraegoodin.com

Website: http://www.lauraegoodin.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Laura.E.Goodin.Writer/

Twitter: @lauragoodin

Insta: @lauraegoodin

Trailer for ATBS: https://vimeo.com/192767816

 *I recommend Laura’s second novel, Mud and Glass, for anyone who has ever darkened the portals of an institute of higher education, or loves cookies. Or both. Especially both.

Trailer for Mud and Glass:  https://vimeo.com/215929002

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