Fortuitous Tide

The 4th novel was chugging along nicely until I discovered I had made a cardinal sin on the first page. When the character arrives by train, she steps out into a burning North Queensland sun and five minutes (a bit longer perhaps) it is late at night.

Now I know full well that time is going faster – the days are getting shorter, I swear, and it’s not just the cooler months – I’m flat out getting all my jobs done in a day – probably a government plot. But even I won’t go so far as to say it’s going that fast.

So back to the drawing board. Now instead of progressing with the writing of the fourth novel, I am backtracking to check there are no other similar glaring errors.

Current Weather and Tides

I understand the Gold Coast U3A members are putting together a writing and art competition. For those out there who feel they are ready to do something with those short stories they have previously scribbled and hidden away in a drawer, it is time to bring them out, dust them off and send them off.

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

Elizabeth Rimmington



A Pearl for your Enjoyment

Write a scene where the description is portrayed through action or speech, not through narrative. I am not sure I have nailed this – you be the judge.

Excerpt from Emma Kelsey by Elizabeth Rimmington.

Emma stopped to take a last look at herself in the shop window. She teetered in the shoes of her sister. She’d be lucky if she made it home today without every bone in her feet not broken. Her teeth held her bottom lip as she analysed the dress struggling to contain her tall, proportionate, well-rounded frame. Why on earth did she listen to her mother’s advice?  A simple black dress and plain black high heels may suit every occasion but not necessarily so when both articles of clothing were at least one size too small for her. Vainly she grabbed at the hem of her sister’s dress and pulled. Her hands stopped. If she kept this up, the skirt and bodice would surely come asunder. Pleasure replaced some of her anxiety as she stroked her hair. Being long, black and straight it only needed to be tied up in a knob on her head to look professional. This may be a prestigious job to apply for but was it all worth the trouble?

Like a sinner to the gallows, she covered the last thirty yards to the Court House steps with her head held high and barely a wobble in her legs. Emma’s mantra filled her ears. “Deep breaths, deep breaths.” Of its own volition, her mind counted the steps to the entrance doorway; twelve; a veritable mountain.

She felt she should take a tissue out of her bag and wipe the polished timbered door after pushing it open. Her eyes widened at the large airy room with windows from ceiling to floor at one end. Was she to sit on one of the white, leather, lounge chairs? Would she ever rise to her feet again if she did? Maybe she should sit on the straight-backed chair facing the wide L-shaped desk of lightly polished timber. A man delved into a lower drawer; his back to her. This must be the judge’s office. No doubt, her room, if she gets the job, will be one of the cubby-holes along the corridor she had just passed through. She coughed.

“Take a seat, I’ll just be a moment.” His arm rapidly filled with files from the drawer.

Emma’s sigh rose silently, in this quiet room, unlike anything she’d seen before. She’d give anything to slip her shoes off but feared they may not go back on again. Her toes struggled to encourage circulation. Again, she pulled at the hem of her dress before placing her handbag on her lap to camouflage its shortcomings.