I’m just at the finishing stages of the third book of the A Celtic Trilogy series. Its title is The Tourmaline Bracelet and is set in WW1, based around Elen’s great grandson Harry Jameson. I just have editing and proof reading to do for release August 2017. I ordered a matte cover version of Elen which arrived this week.I am really pleased with this compated to the glossy option they provide, and will definitely use this again!
This morning my fox terrier dog Billy and I went out for our daily walk. We usually take the path at the back of our house then walk up the covered steps where the council have thoughtfully placed a bench for us walkers, but today I decided on a different route. We have a flooded plain area at the end of our street for the local wildlife; a conservation patch that is a favoured haunt for the local wildlife. On more than one occasion I have heard sounds and movements through the tall eucalyptus trees and lemongrass bushes; cracking twigs, chirping and rustling. My psyche is very calm when it comes to local wild life, but this IS Australia, the land that has the most poisonous wild life in the world.
This morning I’m happily strolling along the outskirts of the flooded plain area when a screeching and a flapping appears on my nearside. A magpie, perched on the lowest branches of the tree, watches us intently through orange eyes; a clear indication that it was a juvenile bird. I step back onto a twig, just as a butterfly flies into my vision. I muffle a scream, startling my dog at the same time.
Have you ever felt silly? I have, just this morning…..
Slinking away as quietly as I could, a sudden movement on the path ahead indicates that a large black lizard has heard my clumsy movements. He flicks his tail at me, running into the bushes.
My dog goes bananas, barking frantically, hackles raised. I nearly lose hold of his lead, which would be disastrous as he;
1) has no road sense; and
2) would run into thick bushes which lead to the Aussie outback and never be seen again!
Disaster abated, I walk quickly down the road, dragging Billy with me, who was still barking and pulling himself towards the bushes. No sign of the lizard of course, he was halfway up the mountains by now….
A glutton for punishment, Billy and I take our evening stroll after dinner. Before we had even got past my front door porch, Billy had grabbed a massive cane toad into his mouth. He shook the knobby lump, legs flailing around his mouth and spit hitting my legs, the wall, everywhere. I scream into the hallway and my hubby ran out, holding a broom in his hand, ready to swipe the thing onto the lawn.
What a drama! I frantically wipe the foam off my dog’s mouth with a damp cloth before we continue our walk – we hadn’t left the front door yet!
I think the next time we go for one of our lovely, leisurely, and relaxing walks again – I will ensure that I am properly prepared, with a cover over my head, a stick to shoo away the wildlife, and boots to protect my feet.
This is a short story I wrote over the weekend as part of my Creative Writing Course. The theme this week is ‘Place’ particularly an experience/event/time or people that has made a lasting impression on us.
I chose to write about my trip to Melbourne with my son, who’s now totally immersed in the Melbournian lifestyle. Melbourne is an eclectic, Bohemian, unique corner of Australia, which totally goes against all the notions of wide open rural landscapes, kangaroos on every corner and blue sparkling beaches along its vast coastline.
Melbourne leaves a lasting imprint on your psyche, and is well worth a visit.
The tram rumbles on behind us as we hurry down the street, passing noisy school children like chattering monkeys, clad in matching hats and wooly socks. I feel a bumping against my elbow and a young woman brushed past, clad in a long flowing skirt scattered with animal prints. A whiff of cigarettes fills my nose, mixed with spicy herbs and perfume. She has a brightly printed scarf over a mass of dark curls, reaching almost to her bum. A flash of yellows, purples and deep blues from her headwear, almost reflecting the sky in front of me. A church bell chimes and I think again of the lateness of the hour and our reasons for hurrying. Quickening my pace, I glance into a shop window, drawn to the shiny objects in its glass frontage. Musical instruments of all shapes and sizes are displayed there, waiting to adorn a pub or nightclub or even the corner of a trendy living space, reminding me again of the sheer mood of such an eclectic street. Up ahead, a sign flashes intermittently, welcoming us into the alcove below. We stop in the doorway, catching our breath for a moment. Loud music pulsates from the deep interior, muffled by the street traffic and the stairs leading downwards.
‘Now is not the time for dawdling,’ a voice fills my eardrum, and I nod, suddenly feeling self-conscious. I glance at the mirrored wall, hesitating. Will my clothes be suitable? I’ve had my dress a while. What about my hairstyle? It’s the same style that I usually wear. What about my makeup? The same products that I’ve always used. How will I cope if he rejects us? Even worse, that we’ll embarrass him?
With a clipping of heels, we descend the steps, into the darkness. The music is louder now. My husband takes my hand, nudging me.
‘There he is,’ he shouts into the pulsating noise, as my son, guitar in hand, appears on the stage.