Morning is DEFINITELY not my favourite part of the day. It’s gloomy and wet in my world this morning, but no matter how bad my morning may be it is not as bad as the morning that Mary Bailey is about to have. Scarlett’s friend is about to walk into a nightmare, and it will be up to Sam to extricate her from the dilemma; but for now, let us watch the story unfold………
Sam and Scarlett’s adventures did not end when you finished reading ‘THE LONG WEEKEND’.
Scarlett grew up with Mary Bailey. Mary’s world is about to be turned upside down. Scarlett will turn to her man for help, and you know that Sam will do anything for Scarlett, but this case is going to test Sam’s skill and Scarlett’s courage, and it all began at 8 O’clock in the morning…………..
8 O’Clock in the morning.
At that hour of the morning the first cup of coffee is only just making inroads.
The Sergeant is droning on about last nights burglaries and punch ups and road accidents.
He’s very slowly getting around to telling us what our first assignments are for the day.
Crossing guard duty is top of the list of favourites.
Some old dear who usually does the job rings in sick and there are no easy replacements so we…
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For a while I was submitting stories ‘right left and centre’, but recently I have been a bit more selective.
I tell you this because I know I would have hit the magic 100 mark a lot more quickly if I had kept up the submission pace. [It took 13 months to hit the 100 mark]
As luck would have it, my 100th rejection letter was an excellent email which contained some very positive comments and a few suggestions.
I got the feeling that the story did not miss selection by very much.
Over the past few months, my focus has changed.
Instead of flogging a few stories to various Lit’ Mags across the world I have decided to concentrate on the ones that published my stories.
Amazingly, there are a few.
But the real focus is to select the best of my stories and self publish them.
This is a slow and mildly expensive process but it offers the prospect of reaching a wider audience, and of ultimately making a profit [most Lit Mags don’t pay and the ones who do, don’t pay very much].
I’ve been published enough times to know that every now and then I write a story that people will pay to read.
All I have to do is work out which stories work best and gather them together.
You folks help me a great deal in that regard.
Your reaction, likes, comments help me to sift the ‘also-rans’ from the better stories.
So, thank you for your help.
Hopefully you have some fun during this process as well.
So, here’s to number 100. Raise your glass and toast to her round number. [Actually, since I first drafted this post, the count has gone to 101].
9 days to go in my crowd-funding adventure and what have I learned?
That’s a good question, and I’m glad you asked.
I was going to leave this post until the campaign had ended but seeing as I’m the boss around here I thought I would bring it forward.
THINGS I ALREADY KNEW BUT WAS REMINDED OF.
* It takes courage to be any kind of artist, and that applies to being a writer as well.
* It is a bit scary when you put yourself out there.
* At some level, everything is a numbers game.
STUFF I LEARNED SINCE I STARTED THE ‘Pubslush’ campaign.
* For some reason the people who have the least seem to be the first to offer their help [even when you tell them not to].
* A lot of people don’t like ‘signing up’ for stuff. [This one took me by surprise but I guess I can see where people are coming from].
*Offers of help can come from surprising quarters. [This was nice to find out]
* Swallowing your pride and asking for help is good for someone who lacks humility [that’s me I’m talking about]
* When people are used to ‘getting something for nothing’ they are reluctant to change the habit. [I get this. I’m a bit that way myself]
* Most of the people who like my stuff are just as broke as I am. [Not sure what this means but creative people are not usually at the top of the food chain, so I should not be surprised.]
* Short of a miracle [or a very rich supporter] my campaign is unlikely to reach its modest goal [it’s the smallest amount the site will allow] and that’s okay. I’ve learned a lot about myself and it has made me determined to keep on creating. It has even gotten me back into my latest ‘Sam and Scarlett’ novel, which had stalled. I now have my final act and it is head down and bum up until the first draft is finished.
* In the midst of all this I found out that a good friend had fallen ill and the thought was that he was not going to make it. It put this, and a lot of other stuff into perspective. It turns out that he is going to be okay and I have to say that his ‘recovery’ is kind of spooky……. in a good way. It’s a long story but suffice to say that he has made a ‘miraculous’ recovery [he has learned a thing or two over the past few weeks, as well!]
To the small number of people who have pledged funds so far I say a huge thank you. Thank you for showing faith in me and taking the time and the trouble to show it [this includes the good people who found my PayPal button and contributed that way]. I love all my readers but you guys will always have a special place in my heart. Thank you for being a part of my dream.
To those who were not able to contribute but took the time to offer words of support and advice I also say a huge thank you. I know your time is precious and I appreciate you spending some of it on me.
P.S. The collection of short stories ‘Passerby’ will be published. It’s just going to take a bit longer.
Some of those socks have gone missing.
The deck has been replaced.
The ancient ‘walk around phone’, that my son is using was eventually ‘put out to pasture’.
The possum that made the scratches on the wall above the washing machine has been evicted from our roof and now lives in a possum box on the side of the house.
The roof has been replaced as well, but it is just out of sight in this shot.
Two and half grandchildren have begun their existence.
All of our children have moved out of home, and a second dog moved in.
We lost a neighbour and are about to gain a new set.
A lot of things haven’t changed though. We still live here, in this amazing little tumbling down house and we are very happy…………… oh yes…….. and the ghost moved on………. he loved the house as much as we do, but he had to go.
Everyone wants something to explode.
Not literally, but they expect instant action; twists; turns; surprise endings.
Most of the time I can oblige; most of the time it’s what I like too, but every now and then it comes out as something else.
It doesn’t have a lot to do with me it’s just the way it comes out.
Sometimes I forget to write for me and end up writing for someone else.
Not that there is anything wrong with giving your readers what they want, but when it gets in the way, there is a problem.
For the last few weeks, I’ve had a nasty little virus which has turned my body and mind to mush. I’ve been doing my best to read [as in, listen to audio books, because my eyes don’t work too well], but writing has been out of the question.
Hemingway describes what happens to you when you go too many days without writing, and I wish I had written it down when I read it, but if you are a writer you know what he is talking about; it isn’t pleasant.
I have a lot of ideas and heap of characters in my head, and they each demand their time in the sun. It’s good for them, but it does not always serve me well.
I have two novels, both partially written, but the progress is slow because various short stories demand to be written.
If I weren’t enjoying the process, it would be a lot easier.
I could simply lock myself in my writing room and not allow myself out until one, or the other of the novels is completed, but the truth is I love the short form. I love the ‘slice of life’ approach. I love coming in near the end.
I love the feeling of standing at the bar of my local pub and telling a story —- beginning —- middle and end —- all in the time it takes to drink a good whisky.
I love that my main character might be a tough bloke or a suburban housewife.
He might be a she, and either one of them might be a dog or a guardian angel.
They might be an inventor or a murderer or even a damsel in distress.
And yes, they may even be a writer.
While we are on the subject; why do editors of literary magazines hate stories about writers?
A story is a story, so WTF?
Why do they care so much?
Someone wise once said that there are only three stories in the world, and every story stems from those three basic stories.
I had an interesting experience with editors just recently; I submitted one of my favourite stories to a handful of Lit Mags and went back to writing and reading and worrying about stuff; my usual routine.
A bit of time went by and I heard from two different editors about the same story.
In one instance, the story was shortlisted for a prestigious University Lit Mag here in Australia [in didn’t make the final cut, unfortunately], and I was honoured to be on that short list.
I was probably lucky that their theme [they only publish four times a year, and they only publish three stories, so it is a big deal if you are chosen] was ‘Into The Future’ because my story was slightly Sci-Fi.
I don’t write a lot of Sci-Fi, mainly because I’m not very good at it, but this story demanded a Sci-Fi setting.
Now here is the interesting part; when I published this story on WP a while back, you, my lovely readers, commented on the content and the style and singled out certain elements that you particularly liked.
They were the things that I liked about this story as well, so I was very pleased.
Obviously the University Lit Mag editor felt the same way, but when I received a very polite rejection letter from another Lit Mag, they pointed out that they thought it ‘started off well’ but then it fell down in the middle by describing certain places and events and ‘this was time that could have been better spent telling us more about the main characters’.
I laughed when I read this [even though I appreciated the feedback] because these were the very parts that you and I liked about this story.
Can you see my frustration?
Can you see why writers tear their hair out?
I didn’t want you, or them, to know more about the characters; that wasn’t the point of the story.
You and they were supposed to fill in the details for yourself.
Knowing more about the characters would have made the story longer and not necessarily more interesting.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m not complaining; I just find it interesting.
I write for me first, but I definitely write for you.
I want you to have as much fun with a story as I’m having.
I want you to wonder about my characters.
I want you to wonder what comes next and what came before.
I want you to feel sorry for them and to be angry and frustrated that they cannot see what you can see; and I want them to make you laugh —- sometimes at them, and sometimes with them.
Above all, I want you to enjoy the ride.
I mean it when I say that I often don’t know where these characters are taking me so I get a buzz as it starts to unfold and I hope that you do too.
Sometimes I sit on trains and I look for a face that interests me; someone I’m drawn to.
I build a life for that person inside my head.
I imagine those that are around them now as well as those who are passed on.
The ones who have passed on are invariably the most interesting; they are ‘the ones who have come before’.
We all have them; they are the ones who loved us or influenced us or were touched by us, but now they are gone. What would they say if they could communicate? I often imagine mothers and grandmothers who are immensely proud of how a young person has turned out. “He’s such a good boy”, said a grandmother who had watched her grandson grow from a boy to a man; she is so proud.
These exercises can sometimes leave me feeling a little sad but on the other hand, it is fun to think of loved ones being reunited.
I’m not sure what effect these sessions have on my stories, because my stories tend to be in the here and now, but I know that I get a great sense of connection when I practise this. “Everyone has a story to tell”, my mother said this a lot and she was right, they do, it’s just that it sometimes takes a second person to bring out that story.
As this essay is entitled ‘Everyone Wants’, and just at this moment, my dogs are looking at me as if to say, “We have waited patiently for you to type your story, and now it is time to walk in the sun.”
Winter does not produce a lot of sunny days so they are right, it would be a shame to waste a sunny day.
I’m in the midst of the Melbourne International Film Festival at the moment. It’s an event that lasts for two weeks and I look forward to it every year. It’s a kind of ‘busman’s holiday’ for me. I get to enjoy other people’s stories for a change. But, it does make it hard to find time to write new stories so I’m sure you wont mind if I post one of my favourite’s from last year. Some of you wonderful people will have read it then and my ‘new people’ can hopefully, enjoy it for the first time. I’ll post a new story on Friday [Australian time], but in the meantime I trust you will enjoy this……………..
As it turned out, it was all about memory.
Chadwick Kirchmeier had spent a large portion of his long life fiddling about with stuff.
At least that’s how his wife Veronica described it.
They were both a bit forgetful but not so much that it caused problems.
They were not what other people would consider old but they knew that life does not go on forever, at least not in these corporeal bodies, and Chadwick wondered what might happen if one or both of them began to drift off into that unkind darkness.
He was determined to gather all their memories together so that those who came after them would know who they had been, who they loved and who loved them.
Neither of them could write well let alone type, and the idea of talking into one of those damn machines had little appeal, so Chadwick did what he…
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It is said that the only creature on this planet that loves you more than itself is your dog. Rufus would agree. He’s is out of his element having ‘gone to the country’, but never-the-less, he will protect his mistress……
A dead body smells funny.
Not funny exactly; more strange that funny.
I found it, and it’s mine.
Humans aren’t supposed to smell like that, and they aren’t supposed to lie that still.
I sniffed where the breath should be and nothing came out.
I’m definitely claiming it but I’m not sure what to do with it.
I need help. I need my mistress, and the best way to get her to come is to bark really loud.
I have different barks for different occasions and she seems to understand most of them, which is great because it means that we can share stuff. She likes my ‘happy to see you bark’ best of all, even if it does wake everyone up when it is dark outside.
That’s another thing; why do humans insist on wandering around after it has gotten…
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