Hi everyone, This post is in response to a writing prompt about visiting Grampa's house. I'd love to hear your reflections. Not Grampa’s house It was never Grampa’s house, not even when he was alive. It was always Granma’s. It was her money; her inheritance. The only recollection I have is a photo in a silver frame on the mantle shelf above the fireplace. And his armchair, a stuffed horsehair monstrosity that took up a whole corner of the sitting room. The chair and the man are connected by the photo of him staring into the middle distance through round frameless spectacles. There’s an air of arrogant remoteness as he sits in the very same chair, his hands resting across his stomach. What is he seeing? What thoughts are clamouring for his at...
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G'day friends. The last six months have had their own challenges and, in some ways, it seems such a short time since I posted here. I have been working on my short story writing skills and hopefully improving. I do appreciate the comments left on the site as well as in person, so thank you. Secret Passions. The hall clock chimed nine; it was Antony’s favourite day of the week and his favourite time of day. Time to retreat to the loft above the bedroom where a new package that arrived this morning, waited for his eager fingers to untie the string. They were an old-fashioned company still using brown paper and string and Antony had been dealing with them for years. His anticipation built with each step on the attic ladder; what was in store for him tonight? The solitude wrapped him in its arms as Antony stepped up into his private space. The package sat undisturbed on the table beside his armchair, the curling ends of the string called to be tugged just right in order to...
Number 148
a new short story for you. as ever let me know what you think. Number 148 Gen Webster The walk from the station up through the throng of busy shoppers took a good twenty minutes and she turned the corner to find trees and light traffic. The going was easier downhill and there it was on her left. It was no longer a family home for the well-to-do but given over to house the almost homeless. The garden, overgrown with weeds, and cursory attention paid to the grassy area leading up to the verandah. What would she find behind the tall olive-green door of the tall Victorian house, set well back from the road, with brass numbers glowing ag...
Hi there, I have a sample of my new MS to share with you. It's chapter one, so no explanations are necessary. As always, leave a comment if you are moved to do so, thanks. 1 U NCLE Jack pressed a two-shilling piece into Lili’s hot little hand. “You take your sisters to the shop and get a bottle of lemonade to share.” “Thank you, Uncle Jack,” said Lili who was always polite to uncles and aunties. Taking out her hanky she wrapped the precious coin and put it in her pocket. Puffed up at her own importance Lili took hold of our hands and we started off down the road, “Uncle Jack must be very rich, Lili. That’s a lot of money and he’s so kind too, not like Mum’s uncle Fred, who always tickles me, and I don’t like it. He never buys us anything.” “I know Pet, don’t worry about that now, let’s get to the shop before it closes.” We continued down the quiet street; unusually, it was even too hot for the boys to be out playing cricket, with the light car traffic, they got a few over...
Hello there, I have a short story to show you, something completely different from my usual offerings. It's called The Gardenia Private Hotel It held its secrets within the solid south-west-facing walls of stone, a short, steep walk from the Atlantic Ocean. The owner-occupiers held themselves along with the secrets of their guests. Privacy was what drew regular visitors year after year in the off-season? Built in the nineteenth century from the traditional Cornwall stone, with sheltered windows gazing in all directions, the mansion sits smugly beyond the high walls facing the street. Nestled behind which, the garden, with the titular gardenias and fish pond creating a perfect space for afternoon tea. Each room is secluded from the others; up a flight of stairs, through the glass door and up three more steps to a short hall. Once inside the door, it’s as if we were the only guests. We didn’t meet anyone else in the corridors or on the stairs. Were they as we were, tryin...
Hello It's been a while since my last post. I have been preparing to travel again (at last) and putting finishing touches to Sandhill Cove. I would like to share with you a little of my writing process. Flora, a character in Dear Maggie , started life as Phoebe and while the details changed in the writing of my book, the piece shows how I develop my characters and am flexible when it comes to the final draft. I hope you enjoy reading this and please feel free to comment. Thanks, until next time Phoebe: A Self-Portrait There are things in my life that I have tried to forget; to hide them away in shame. Why shame? My mind is in turmoil; my baby is gone. Nothing else matters now. Not Father; not George or Henry; no amount of rejection is equal to the pain that I suffer with the loss of my little girl who is now in the frozen ground outside of the church yard, to endure the cold eternity of the unbaptised. Cruel and unnecessary punishment for being born before it was her time. R...
hello, Please see another instalment to my new story. I'd be interested to read your comments. Thanks for your time. cheers Gen Chapter 1 Sandhill Cove, which got its name from the sand dunes that stretched a half-mile south along the beach, was a small seaside town that time forgot. Somehow it grew out of the national park surrounding it, a single road connecting the town to the highway. Folks from the highway towns referred to Sandhill Cove as a one dog town since the trains stopped running to the timetable. While the station-master (as he still referred to himself, despite the closing of the line) Mr Edwards, called it a two-dog town; his and the local butcher’s. Bruce Lindsay, the publican preferred to think of it as a one-horse town, it didn’t have the ring of abandonment as suggested by the one-dog handle. The Education Department had already transferred the older students to the high school in Nowra, while retaining the primary school. Annual threats to close t...
Hello friend, I would like to share a short excerpt from my new MS, title as yet undecided. If you would like to leave a comment, I would appreciate any feedback. Until next time Gen 1951 Not a word had passed between them since leaving town. As he turned north onto the highway five miles into their homeward journey, Dave Armstrong broke the silence. “What d’you think, Love. Is it a goer?” he tried to keep his enthusiasm in check. He could be impulsive and sometimes things went very wrong. Mo was usually tolerant of his failings, but this time he needed her full consent and cooperation. Dave had a list of all the right reasons to uproot his young family to the edge of civilisation, as his father-in-law had so indelicately put it. He ticked them off in his mind: Fresh air; the ocean at their doorstep; a business that paid its way and then some; tourists flocking to the coast for summer holidays and weekends while the local pub, and a number of b and bs provided accommodation. A...
Hello Friend, The dust has settled after the excitement of organising the launch for Dear Maggie; it's time to get back to work. We had a good group of friends and family attending. The lovely Rima from @caferima2204 and her friendly staff kept us hydrated and the event running smoothly. Thanks Rima, for providing a great venue for our event. I'm happy to report that my new MS is taking shape at last and I hope to have it completed by the end of January. That is the plan; 'but the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.' Acknowledgment to Robert Burns "To a Mouse." cheers till next time Gen
hello Friend, I have returned from my sojourn on Norfolk Island, which lasted a bit longer than I anticipated. the weather wasn't any better for us there, than it was for you folks here. Hence I just have some pics of the garden on one of the rare fine days. I wasn't tempted to swim in the calm water of Emily Bay, which was too cold for the time of year, but I was able to sit and watch the power of the ocean with a takeaway then back to my laptop. I think I made some progress with my MS; time will tell. Preparations are well in hand for the book launch which will take place at 2.30, on 29th October at the Café Rima, with the lovely hostess Rima to welcome us. Till next time Gen
Hello Friend, An interesting little book landed in my lap last week; Great Housewives of Art by Sally Swain. You see friends, that between 1971 and 1992 I was busy raising children, working full-time while managing home and housework and all that it involves, so I was to all intents and purposes oblivious of goings-on in the world of art and literature. Since my retirement I have been catching-up so to speak, with my travels, reading translations of foreign books and seeing as much art as I can; so much art-so little time. In short I've been undergoing re-education of sorts. Back to Sally and her creations which lifted my spirits and brought a smile to my face. The front cover has Mrs Degas vacuuming the floor-tutu and all, while Mrs Miro sweeps hers and Mrs van Gogh makes the bed. This is such a delightful book and I thank Sylvia for sending it to me. I will be house-sitting on Norfolk Island for a few weeks where I hope to have plenty of writing time and will send posts...
Dear Friend I’d like to share a story with you. Gerry (not his real name) has been telling me that he’s been living in Australia now for sixty-five years. He painted a picture of himself as a young man, when he squeezed into his stovepipe trousers and sporting bright red socks visible above his winkle-pickers attended the dances at Petersham Town Hall. He said that he had a fun time and an excellent life here after migrating to Australia. “The ladies liked me too…” he said with a cheeky grin. I can just picture it. He still has that killer smile (with fewer teeth it has to be said) that swept the ladies off their feet. Everyone has a tale to tell, but not everyone has someone to listen. Look for the youngster hiding behind the leathery skin of folks who mostly go unnoticed and unremarked upon. Please stop and listen to the stories of both the young and not-so-young. I find inspiration all around me, I listen to family stories too and my next project will be about the youn...
25th August. Hello Friend. It’s proving difficult to find a venue for my book launch, however, not as difficult as finding a publisher. I have approached a few small businesses in mt local area, with an idea to host the launch, without success. As soon as I find a place, you’ll be the first to know. It feels amazing to hold the book in my hands after all the work that goes into the preparation for publication. I have to pinch myself when I see my book on my shelves. It’s been fascinating to be part of the process and scary to realise that as a writer I am responsible for self-promotion, when I haven’t any experience in this area. Fortunately, I have a very knowledgeable friend to help. I have been asked what is my motivation to write. I can’t put it into words (ha ha) but I can tell you what inspired the story of Dear Maggie. I see people sitting outside cafes, people who have retired and spend their days in the sun. I wondered what they were like as younger folks and decid...
Hello friend, My name is Gen and I’ve recently had my debut novel published. It’s called Dear Maggie. I would like to introduce myself by telling you a little about how I came to write Maggie. I live in the Inner West of Sydney; I’ve raised a family and had a long working life. In my retirement I started to write. We have all heard writers say that from an early age, writing and telling stories was their destiny. This wasn’t my experience, at school when faced with the prospect of yet another essay on what I did on my holidays, I turned to an older sibling who willingly dictated some fictional events from her previous essays. Sister Mary Clare would definitely not have approved. You know now that I wasn’t completely honest in doing my homework, but I hope you will continue to follow me. Next time I hope to have news of my upcoming book launch…