Newsletter December 2019
As mentioned on the recent book tour to North Queensland in October, I planned to have the sequel, Shadows on the Goldfield Track, published before Christmas. We all know what happens to the ‘best-laid plans of man and mouse’. Late January 2020 now seems more likely.
Why? I hear you ask.
“Christmas has snuck up on me,” I answer.
“A likely story,” you say. “The commercial businesses have been counting down the number of shopping days to Christmas since the end of Easter. What rock have you been hiding under?”
“Picky, aren’t you? Don’t you think you might be exaggerating slightly?”
Reminds me of a little old Irishman I once knew who often said, “Now Liz, don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story.”
The greatest hurdle has been in this latest edit I am working on. It’s the gremlins in my PC, you see. The read should have been plain sailing but no, these gremlins have been at the document and sprayed that word ‘that’ around like room freshener. “Thats” are just as irritating as air-freshener. Maybe they just breed like rabbits or white mice. I discovered so many of the little blighters and had to make so many alterations to obliterate them for good, I now need to read the manuscript all over again. We all know that (oops) the document needs to sit ignored for several weeks before attacking it again fresh.
Courage to those living and working in the drought or bush-fire areas. Acknowledgment to all the heroes and there are many; on the fire fronts and on the drought fronts. Also to those struggling with the elements and to those providing support in any way.
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Thanks to all those readers who have made contact through my Facebook account. Facebook.com/elizabethrimmington.author.
I have been given the book, “Facebook for Dummies.” I think that is a hint – like a broad axe across the snout. One day I hope to understand the concept.
Reminders again for the Gympie readers.
Presentation of Shadow of the Northern Orchid at the Gympie Library on Friday the 6th December 2019 at 10am
For the Hervey Bay readers:
I will be at the Hervey Bay Library on Saturday the 7th December 2019 presenting the same novel.
Wishing you a very MERRY CHRISTMAS and a HAPPY and SAFE NEW YEAR.
A Pearl for your Enjoyment
The following is a piece I wrote in 2017. It was published in a booklet by our local library. Over my next three newsletters, I shall complete the story.
By Elizabeth Rimmington
This story is a work of fiction. The tale has been inspired by the view from my front veranda. Camouflaged within the forest on the ridge rising up from the far bank of the creek is a large rocky cave. The old folk in the district tell of a bush-ranger who holed up in this cave when robbing the coaches travelling through here almost one hundred and fifty years ago.
The sun on the brim of his hat cast a dark shadow over his face. His back rested against the wall of the grog shanty. The booted right foot was drawn up behind him with the sole resting on the same corrugated wall. Blue eyes never left the heavy wooden front door of the bank on the opposite side of the street. A black beard fanned out from his mouth as he sipped from the glass in his hand.
Wood-fire smoke drifted on the air. Aromatic smells of the cooking foods blended uncomfortably with the odours of human waste. Various businesses lined the street as it wound its way down the hill. Jack’s peripheral vision caught the action happening three allotments down from the bank. Four men laughed and called loudly to each other as they unloaded the bullock-drawn dray of wooden poles, timber slabs, shingle roofing and corrugated iron. By this time tomorrow, a new business house will stand on the vacant space.
His body stiffened. His right foot dropped to the ground. Rumbling wheels, pounding hooves and snorting horses heralded the arrival of the stagecoach as it pulled up in a cloud of dust in front of the bank.
“Where have you been? You were supposed to have been here an hour ago.” A red-faced man in a topcoat underlined his words with an accusing finger.
Wiping the perspiration from his forehead, the coach driver lifted his hat and said, “It doesn’t do to keep to a strict time-table, Sir. Makes it too easy for the bush-rangers.”
“Humph! Well, come on then, let’s get this consignment loaded and on the road.” The manager stormed back in through the doorway of the bank building.
No-one noticed Jack calmly walk off up the street and disappear around the back of the barber’s hut. He made his way through a scattering of tents, excavations and several wooden windlasses that marked the entries to hopeful miners’ dreams.
To be continued.