Newsletter NOVEMBER 2020

Fortuitous Seas

My third novel, Burdekin Heartbeats, is now in the hands of Ingram Spark.

It is due to be on sale on December 2nd 2020.

The Genre of this story is Historical/Fiction/Romance/Adventure.


The sound of a prolonged scream tore across the ship’s decks. Both men forgot their contemplations. Shamus bounded out of his chair but Mark was already hurtling towards the starboard side of the vessel. Shamus rounded the wheel-house to see Mark unhitch a lifebelt from the rail and leap up onto the top of the bulwark timbers. With the briefest of pauses, the young man threw himself out into the sea with the lifebelt flapping against his right arm.

“What’s going on, Pa.” His daughter’s voice sounded at his shoulder. “Where’s Mark?”

He drew the girl into the curve of his arm. Relief washed over him when his Mary moved up to her other side. It was Mary who reported the gossip from the onlookers.

“It’s the McIvor boy. He’s jumped in to rescue a youngster who fell overboard.” The vibration of the engines beneath their feet ceased. The sudden stoppage almost caused the trio to lose their balance. The captain’s voice was heard shouting a volley of orders. Crew members ran towards the lifeboats.

Shauna’s face drained of colour. Her hearing was acute.

Current Weather and Tides

What am I doing today (the day the manuscript went off to be published)?

What would you be doing?

Comfy chair on the verandah, feet up, a bottle of plonk at my right hand, a packet of Tim Tams at my left hand. Yep; sounds good to me.

Cheers to all.

Keep reading. Keep writing. Keep smiling. Keep safe.


A Pearl for your Enjoyment

Installment ONE of TWO

‘Who’d Have Thought’ was a homework piece for one of my writer’s groups.

A man buys a hammer, a hatchet, a rope, and an apple. What does he do with them?

This story was written very much with tongue in cheek. The main character had certainly not perused the latest guide on Optimum Standards in Raising Children. But …


by Elizabeth Rimmington

The smell of the tannery wafted into the country store ahead of Freddy Sowden. But it was not the smell as much as the inbuilt wariness of the customers that led to the quick exodus from the building. Fear lurked in the depth of every eye like a panther ready to pounce. All except in the eyes of Jake Hardy who served behind the counter. Jake never gave credence to half the tales the community spread like confetti about old Short-Fuse-Freddy.

“Hi, Fred, will you look at that lot. Remind me of cockroaches, they disappear so quick-like.”

The new arrival scratched at the greying beard still carrying remnants of his last meal – or two. He dragged the felt hat, which looked like it may have cleaned out a few cow barns, from his head.

“Sorry to take-a-way yer business, boy. I won’t take up much of yer time.”

“Don’t you worry none, Fred. They’ll be back sniffing like rats around the cheese hoping to hear all the gossip.” The dimples on the younger face teased the world. “I’ve tried, repeatedly, over the years, to explain how the coppers made a big mistake; not that they listen any.”

Fred coughed – a rattling cough. He spat a funnel of thick phlegm into the spittoon sitting on the floor beside the counter. ‘No need to fret yerself on my account. It keeps them away from me land. Now can yer git me a few things?”

Jake’s muscled arms swept several pens, papers, and items to the edge of the counter. “Okay, Fred, what’s it you want?”

The bell on the door jangled.  The two men at the counter barely turned their heads. The sound filled the room again as the intruder made a hasty retreat when he saw whom Jake was serving.

“Lad, for starters I need a hammer, medium weight, and a hatchet, not those cheap things that don’t sharpen properly.”

Jake went and made a selection from the shelves behind the counter. His laugh rang out. “If the townsfolk saw these purchases, they’d make a great tale of why you wanted a hatchet and hammer, I’m sure.” He called.

Fred’s grunt held little mirth. “Now I want about 50 meters of rope, lightweight, but stronger than string. Not that stuff that just snaps when you look at it, but easy enough to tie tightly. The townsfolk can add that to their fabrications.”

The floorboards creaked under Fred’s heavy boots as he wandered along a row of shelves peering into the boxes of nuts and bolts, nails and screws. He picked up an apple in a crate and tossed it into the air, catching it with a snap. He inhaled the sweet aroma of fresh fruit. “You can add this apple to the list. Actually, you can make that half a dozen.”

With his purchases in an old cardboard box, Fred made his way out of the shop. A screech exploded into the air when he opened the door of the old ute. He tossed his box onto the front seat. The blue dog yelped and moved aside. Another screech of complaint when Fred slammed the door. With a bang and a rattle, they moved off down the street and out of the township.


Using his whole body to hold the squirming lass against the pepperina tree, Fred tied the rope around her slender wrists now behind her back. The knots were tight but the loops were only firm enough to hold without interfering with the circulation to her hands. He secured another length of rope from the soft handcuffs to a low branch leaving her about six feet wriggle-room.

Tears blended with the dust on her face. She sobbed. She screamed. “Let me go! Undo these ropes!” Her small body twisted; her legs kicked out in defiance.