Nostalgia

I would not really go off crook if someone accused me as being in mock of the great Outback, especially these days.

I live in the beautiful sea side holiday resort on the New South Coast of Australia, writing about the Outback, or Outback  experiences, but it is from memory, most of it, and to me, that is good, as I did go back to the Outback about thirty years after I left there and it was sad, it was disappointing, it was not what I had hoped it would be.

There were Video Hire shops, there were kids sitting in the streets drinking from brown paper bags, and get this for destroying the Outback dream..There were neon signs...Didn't need 'em in my day...we knew where everything was.

Luckily for me, I developed an instant love for that country  in the early days, a bit like falling for a cane toad, I guess, but I fitted in, mostly and earned my right to complain about the flies, the heat, the floods, the droughts the fires and the crook bosses, but only to me' mates...You never want to let anyone else know how good it is, or they  will turn up in droves.  Like now.

It is probably a good thing that I write novels, fiction based very loosely on fact  or Fair Dinkum events that may or may not have happened., which is how fair Dinkum is. I liken this to making a Fair Dinkum bush stew in a camp oven: You toss in some steak, some chops some rabbit some duck lots of spuds and pumpkin, onions and all the stuff that looks like some sort of vegetation in the bottom of the tucker box, water, curry powder to taste, or to take the taste away, and let it simmer...You never really know how it is going to turn out, but you can bet your busted braces that it is going to taste good.....I hope me' yarns are like that.

Now, about the coast: I have two lively doggies that love the beach and the water, and when I toss them into this 'camp oven of happiness', they love me more than ever...That can't be bad, Hey?

In my dotage, I recall the times, when living at Bondi as a kid, my mum and dad would want to walk on the beach, in the long summer evenings.  Times when  you could do that without taking a baseball bat, ifn' ya' know what I mean.

I don't recall my parents ever going out together except for these times, I mean, I was the youngest of seven kids, so even I could see why this happened.

But now, like today, after the doggies had run themselves ragged, we sat on the sand, the evening cooling, watching the ocean, and me thinking of those most beautiful days when Mum, Dad and me would sit like we did just talking about life...Brings a little tear, It does.

Gets easier every day

I love writing, allowing my characters to come alive on the page, and allowing them, with some restraint, to lead the story.

In the new and 3rd story, which leads us  up to the beginning of the Baker Dynasty, I called a woman a dowager, I didn’t really know what a dowager was, and when I looked it up, it is a perfect word for this cantankerous female, as the character is a widow.  She feels that the world should know "Who I am" as she now holds some property left from her departed husband, and is travelling with a daughter whom she embarrasses many times.

It is an easy road, the settlement of the colonies, as there is massive amounts of information that can be used from  historical events and recorded on the internet.

I have the added research material in the arrival of my ancients to South Australia from Dorset, and although they would turn in their grave at the liberties I take, they give me many pages to add to "From Whence They Came."  Material like personal letters, and descriptions of life in the early eighties in South Australia.  There is even a price list of goods, in a letter, showing the people in England the high cost of being a colonist that must buy rather than sell.

I know that you will like this book,  after you read the sequel, which is in the hands of my editor/publisher.

Calling All Writers

Calling all writers and potential writers:

I have been associated with my publisher for a couple of years now and we have both had some problems with a third party.  That third party is no longer coming to "our party' which is only all good.

Fiona Gatt, whose name you will see on my books from now on as Editor, is the most capable person I  have seen in regards to knowing what people like to read.

If you have some work that you would like an appraisal on, and I might add, a constructive criticism, you may send it along to Fiona.

Anyone who has tried their hand at writing has come up with the dilemma of finding a publisher that doesn't want an arm and a leg to put your work out into the reading public arena.

I can assure you, and I have looked, there is no greater opportunity for the novice, or even known authors to have a great boost or start to your writing career.

Poetry, children's books, Australian genre stories, drama, comedy ... or surprise Fiona, who is quite used to surprises, having known me! Here's her site.

A Beatuful sight

A beautiful sight can often turn to disaster.  This Square Rigged Brigantine is similar to the Emma, the ship that our main character in the up and coming book, "From Whence They came." sailed to the State of South Australia in 1836.

This book will be the third in the Tiger Williams series,  with the sequel (book 2) in the hands of my publisher and Co-writer, Fiona Gatt.

Up to 103 days was spent on these vessels as they sailed for the colonies in Australia.  Many did not make it, as they were dashed against the southern ragged coast line on the continent, lost in raging storms at the Cape of Good hope or death by typhoid on board.

Sailing down to the cape of Good Hope and riding the roaring forties up to Australia was the most travelled route for these little ships.

When you consider that the average age of Ships Captains was around 26 years, and their only experience was around the shipping channels of England, these young men, and oft times younger crew, did a tremendous job and showed great courage to take on the adventure.

Imagination and Writing

I recall me' dear old' Mammy saying, "Peter you are just imagining it." Whatever it was I was imagining, it was real to me at the time,  and that, folks is the beauty of childhood.  You can have an invisible friend, many do, even adults, they call that friend God, but that is another story, and, in my opinion, it is not an imagination.

I like to meet people and turn them, or their characteristics into players in stories.  Once I 'Meet' my made up player, they become my personal entourage for a journey that, sometimes, does not work; however, I do not destroy these players, as there is always a place for someone somwhere.

The advantage of my imaginative players,  is that they are made up of a composite of people I meet, and although you may say, "I met him, I bet he  is talking about me,"  there will be that many other aspects in the character that you will never be sure....Sneeky ain't it?

I am rather fond of pretentious people as characters, not because of their pretentiousness, but because they are very insecure, are prone to suffering from the syndrome of removing the left foot from their mouths to put the right foot back in, ifn' ya' know what I  mean?   The stuffy ones usually come down many pegs in my stories (Read The Pup) but I am not always terribly unkind to them as it is never humorous to regale a person without having a bit of an Aussie 'leg pull'.

So there you go folks, a bit of my style of writing, adn onetht new writers might like to think about.

Not only but Also #2

I am very fortunate that I have ancestors, or ancients, as I like to call them, Why?  I'll tell ya', it is a well known fact that if your parents do not have children, there is a good chance you won't either.

My family history goes back to the 1600s where the first recorded (name) was given permission to bear arms, and I thought we were an 'armless lot. I did have some suspicion that being legless ran in the family from time to time.

My#1 fan, Rainee, is a researcher in ancestry, and with this lovely lady's great assistance I was able to find many of my past kin, and some of my present kin, which give me the right to be kin to kinfolk, ifn' ya' know what I mean.

My family history in South Australia, at the time of early settlement, and the information that was recorded, and detected by Rainee, is a very strong  part of the 3rd book, "From Whence They Came" in the story of 'Tiger Williams.'

I look foward to the publication of the sequel, now in the hands of Fiona Gatt, my publisher, and the third book has been started.

It is with the greatest of joy, for both of us, that Fiona has sorted out a problem with the parent publisher, and Fiona and I have gone partnership together to get these stories out to you; no middle man.

Fiona has the expertise that I lack in editing, a task equal to writing the stories of length in the first place.  So, folks, I have nothing but good vibes about my writing now, instead of the overhanging doom that existed previously.

Not Only But Also

The third Book in the Tiger Williams Series is under way.  This one goes back to the beginning of the Baker clan in Dorset England.

The Title "From Whence t hey came" will have many bits and pieces about the 'Bounty scheme', about the hopes and aspirations of the free settlers and about their impressions of this Great South Land across the sea.

Here is the unedited, opening remarks.  Some  months away yet though.  So make sure you read the sequel to The Life and Loves of Tiger Williams, now available on Amazon Books.

“But Charles, it is such a long way, six months on the ship...Leaving England, our family, our friends....Oh Charles, I will go, of course, I am you wife, but please keep me safe.”

Mary, Elizabeth Baker nee Newington, was the typical genteel female of Rural Dorset. Born to a well to do family of landholders and Physicians, she had a good life, was happy in the social life, as it was in Dorset in the early 1800s, but as she thought of these things she also had the thought..'.and now this. '

Charles Bevan Baker was a wanderer, a merchant of adventure, and at the age of sixteen years, already an adult and  partner in the family Company, he intended to become very wealthy, and a man of the world.

The green pastures of Dorset, in the district of Marnhull, held two lines of this Baker clan, there were the rich landholders, and there were the workers and tenant farmers that worked small plots for the Squires

Although the clan bore the same name, the divide between the classes was wide and very evident. The Mister Bakers would have no hesitation in withdrawing assistance and employment from the common Bakers, the workers, the poor ones that often, in hard times, relied on handouts from the community or local Parish Church.

Charles left the large house, with its thatched roof, low doorway, tidy garden and went to his horse that was held, patiently, by the groom. Another servant came with a shotgun and a packet of cartridges that Charles places into loops on this hunting jacket.

“Tell the cook I will only bring her two partridge today...we have no guests coming for a free feed tonight.”

The servants tittered at this, obediently, and went about their duties.

As he rode out to meet neighbours and friends, who had already arranged the 'beaters' for the partridge hunt, he thought of the 'game' that may present itself to his accurate marksmanship.

'Hopping marsupials, ten feet tall, wombats built like grizzly bears, other bears that lived in trees and, and, according to Jim Williams, dropped down from the trees to attack the unwary.  There were birds of all size and colour..It will be a bright new wonderful world,'

Excited....Yeeha!

Guess what?  My wonderful Publisher has asked for the sequel to my first novel.

It will be named From lantana to Lotuses or From Lotuses to Lantana, depending on what Fiona Gatt, my co-writer in this event decides.

This story creates some new characters, different adventures and more pathos, love, drama than the "Life and Loves of Tiger Williams."

The new "lad on the block is Richard Little"  Richard meets up with an  old droving mate Steve Williams (Tiger), and joins the staff on Rosemore.

On Rosemore the new characters mingle and mix with the Rosemore 'family', sharing happiness, sadness and tragedy.

This sequel takes us to the 1960's in the Central West of Queensland, when the modern world was slowly taking over the Outback.

The attitudes of those of the Large Brown Country is depicted, from the memory of being there at the time, attitudes that still tried to hold onto the old ethics of the great country.

You can guarantee it will be 'required reading' for those that were clever enough to get the first book.

I loved writing it, I hope you will love reading it.

Moans and Groans

I feel the need to open this little post for those that  do have a sense of the sometimes 'not nice humour' of the Australian ethic.  Of course, I am speaking of the old blokes like me who put things out there as humour; however those with a little amount of understandong will know that the comment is not the reason for the comment.

 There are some great things about marriage, isn't there? Well isn't there?

There is an epotomoptic joke that goes like this:

Hubby come home, sits down on the recliner in front of the TV, kicks his work boots off  adn puts his smelly sock covered feet up on the footstool.

He hears his 'darling wife' in the kitchen adn calls out, "Bring us a beer. will ya'  before it starts?"

Of course, as is the case in a male, against fremale story, the duitiful wife brings him his beer.

A few short minuites later, I mean he has not had a beer since he left the pub, so he is in dire need, he calls,  "Bring us a beer will ya' before it starts?"

Duitiful wife (As they should be)  brings in another can of beer, but this time, duitiful wilfe tries to demand some respect. (whatever for can never be decided).

"Who do you  think you are, you come home with your dirty work clothes, you put your smelly feet up on the footstool and you demand that I bring you beer at  your commend."

"Ow God, it's started."

Movement at the Station

There was movement at the station for the word had got around
That the book from Old Pete had got a start
The sequel to Tiger Williams A fast and sprightly yarn' was out the gate again.
The editor has taken charge, with a beating in her heart.
And Old Pete is ever hopeful that there are those this book will entertain.....

With sincere apologies to "Banjo" and his Man from Snowy River, where the same excitement that his story evokes is in my rickety old bones again.

So far, the title will be from "Lotuses to Lignum", and an entirely new character is introduced. His journey takes him to Rosemore, the home of the Loveable Lindy (nee) Baker and "Tiger Williams.

Alan Baker, his childhood sweetheart, Becky, Mum and Dad Baker Lindy and Steve and "little Stevie" will be there to tell you their stories.

There lives entertwine,  loves are formed, and lost and Rosemore reaches another milestone in its Dynasty.

<<<<<<Longreach.   Rosemore Station>>>>>>>

Nothing wrong with a good ego

It is good to have a bit of an ego, but it is 'more gooda' to have something that boosts that ego.

'The Outback Story, Life and Loves of Tiger Williams' has gone to #3 on the best seller list on Amazon. Now that is what I call a boost, yep, sure do!

I am working on two more stories; one is a follow on to Tiger Williams, and the characters are already establishing their part in the story. Another yarn, for teenagers, did not come easy to this old bugga, as it is a long time since I was of the age; however, now that I am in the swing of it, I am enjoying trying to think what the kids would like to read.

Any author is nothing without readers, because even if I do write the stories, it is you people that read those stories that make me proud ... and, I kid you not, rich.

You keep reading folks, and I will keep trying to entertain you.

Imaginations - A Writer's Friend

Imagination

Sometimes, as my body becomes aware of life, for which I am ever thankful,

My bleary eyes, my deadened brain hears the chattering die away.

Characters of the night all start to scatter, leaping from the bed, a rabble.

Those that do not run, find places in my imagination, and there they stay.

Settled, hiding until some word, some sight, something brings them to spy.

They do not haunt me, for they know my mood of the mornings;

They know I can be bright, they know me foreboding like a stormy sky;

They know I need their company, and are kind to me and fear the warnings.

Slowly I come to grips with rising, my bones creaking in protest,

Eyelids demanding to be shut, closed to the day, just a little longer.

Then one of my head riding mates speaks of things for me to investigate;

A challenge is laid, and I have to rise to meet it, to prove me stronger.

They will not let me rest if things have to be spoken, words written,

And they know my slowness, my weary head, and they take over.

Mechanical fingers hit the keys, letters appear, the bug has bitten.

Off we go, my characters of the night and me, more to discover.

Wonderful gifts us humans are blessed with, imagination, though folly-

Is more than an escape, it refreshes the brain, enlivens the mind;

Stirs the soul, solves problems that may exist, creates friends to love,

And shifts enemies to another place where once gone, you will never find.

Somewhere, whilst ever I remain on this mortal coil, this house of humans

I will find a great love, I will sense that I have been given a chance.

My imagination leads me to believe that there is some kindred spirit

That I may yet still hold in a loving, thought sharing, comforting dance.

Somewhere in this physical place there must be a life I could share,

To relegate the people of the night, my imaginations, to some other place

And a new, exciting game would begin, discoveries and moods to scale.

A different person, a woman of vast patience, able to love, a kissable face.

Maybe not, and I hear my mind folk cheer, they are my friends, they say.

These ones that I have made, these ones that are of my very fibre of life

They do take a toll for their existence, for they control the night until I wake.

Tell them to leave, to break the chain of memories, is not what I would really like.

Where else could I call upon such a rag-tag team of humoursome personalities?

Why would one not have friends that could make you laugh, tho' suffering pain?

Where would you find folk to come at your bidding, always ready to serve your needs?

For me, no other place but in my imagination, waiting release from the works of my brain.

So Lucky for an Old Bloke

I am really amazed at this whirlwind spiral from a non-published writer to being able to feed my ego on the wonderful cover of my very own book.

'The Loves and Adventures of Tiger Williams' has been a long road, a road with many personal feelings and recollections of events, many of which are not in the book, but were evoked during the compilation of the fictional version.

Fiona Gatt, my Publisher at MetaPlume hit the Outback atmosphere nail right on the head with the cover of this story. The colours are the perfect depiction of the Outback at that time of the evening.

The sillouette of the loving couple and the dog are in perfect unison with the story, and the mystery of why "Tiger Williams" will hopefully create that curiosity of those that like a good yarn.

Fiona, I dip's me' lid to ya' girl.

Fingers in Idle, Imagination in top gear.

 There I was, sitting at the 'pute.  I had my teenager story out called Bogan's Heroes  and my fingers were playing with my imagination....Then Wham! you wouldn't beleive what happened next, but I can tell you that  Bogan's Heroes have turned in a dramatic direction.

The Shock to Wally Bogan, the main Character, was something of a shock, not a shock of the electrical shock kind but a shock none-the-less.  He, and I must admit,

I myself, did not expect this unexpected turn of events.  That is what

happens when you let your fingers just stand in idle, the next thing you

know they are off with a burst of reverberation colliding with whatever

comes  into their path, until they get some message from the department

of Imagination and Unexpectedness. 

It might give you an idea of why I like writing fiction. Sometimes flashes of storyline just appear, eespecially if I am really into what story I am telling.

There were times, when I was a teenager in Queensland, and there was not much intellectual

stimulus around, and  one would read the square cuts of newspaper on the nail in the drop-dunny, or when doing a bit of boundry riding, all the writing  on a Golden Syrup or jam can.  When all that vital reading material ran out,  one would contemplate the navel and  things of the mind,  the imagination, the truth of life with more imagination. So, I have had plenty of exercise at toying with my mind and, funnily enough, we get on reasonably well together.

We are at the exciting stage of about to release my early novel, now named The Outback Story - The Loves and adventures of 'Tiger' Williams, then Shark Butcher, a bad, bad storyof corruption, gratuitious sex, murder and intrigue, and then  Bogan's Heroes.  Keep an eye out.

The Book

I even get excited about the book, THE BOOK.  This is a novel that I started writing in 1988. After a few chapters I realised the the first person narrative did not suit the story - too many verticle pronouns. So, I went to another method, third person narrative and this seemed to suit my needs. I could then say things about what the characters were thinking, and things that they intended to do, without it seeming that I could see into the future.

Here we are 25 years down the track, and THE BOOK is about to be released. I had almost given up on having it published, mainly because I did not want to edit the story too much, and this is against the rules for writers. One must follow Mark Twain's suggestion and follow the three rules for writers: edit, edit and edit.

The story was put away at times, and after months, and in some cases, years, I would bring it out and edit a bit more.

It was not until the very loveable person known to me as Fiona Gatt, the publisher for MetaPlume, took the story on and showed me more confidence than I had myself in publishing this Adventurious Love story.

Fiona will give it a write up in her memorable style, so please keep your eye out so that I may be inspired to give out more of life in Australia, taken from the 75 years that I have been here.

Now being worked on by my wacky mind

The lucky ones that have read 'Notty: Targaroo's Disgrace Bar-fly, bludger and sneak-thief turned unlikely hero' will know who George is. They will not know that soon after those events he became ensconsed in a forest on the NSW coast.

What mischief did he get up to? The book "SHARK BUTCHER", now being worked on by my wacky mind, will reveal all.

We have crime, two transvestite KGB agents, heaps of gratuitous sex, vicious murders, and one murder that you will all cheer about. And hopefully you will get some laughs through the story.

Keep your eyes peeled!

Here is just a littel bit:

In the two years that George had been gone from Targaroo, he had spent eighteen months in his new forest home. Like the Australian nomads of the past he camped light and left no, or very little, sign of his whereabouts.

George had befriended many of the forest creatures that would not scatter at his nearness, and who gave him more ability to roam unnoticed should any human happen to be in the area.

One such friend was a red-bellied black snake that George had found when it was a very small reptile, but now had grown considerably.

This snake he called Martha, and felt that no better name could be bestowed on a lowly creature of the forest.

Martha would travel with George on his wanderings, wrapped around George's neck and licking the air to take in different smells. George had come to 'read' the signs from Martha, and at times she had warned him of the presence of human activity.

George "Notty" Wormwood had become an accomplished bushman in the last year and a half. His need to seclude himself from humanity arose from the many rebuffs that he had in the last days at Targaroo. So called friends soon departed when they found out that Martha, his fat wife, controlled George's money, which forced him to revert to his old bar change stealing.

No thought of heroic deeds came to George's mind as he lay hidden near the clearing of 'torture'. Martha the snake, or other snake, as he often thought of her as, lay about his neck and licked the air as they watched humans at play.

New Anthology

I am excited, well as excited as a bloke my age and condition can get, that is.
Fiona Gatt of MetaPlume, my publisher, has worked the skin to the bone, the brain to the last squishy bit of grey matter, to the utmost ability in her work in this line, and I am awed ... no, I am overawed at the result of the compilation of a few short stories, and a coupla' poems.

Do yourself a favour, do me a favour and lash out and buy this latest set of yarns.  It costs less than a cup of coffee, and will give you more of a lift.

Anyone can write stories, only the readers will make that person an author, and only a great publishing group make the stories so very presentable.

The classic Australian joker and story teller gets the quintessential treatment

Like any old classic, Peter Rake's short stories are now available like an old LP - an essential collection.

The Fair Dinkum Yarns from the Australian View includes five outback tales by Peter Rake, plus a coupla poems thrown in for good measure (pardon the pun!).

Get set for some laughs, maybe even a tear jerker.

This collection includes:

Arthur
The Awakening
Notty: Targaroo's Disgrace Bar-fly, bludger and sneak-thief turned unlikely hero
The Coachman
The Pup

Available on Amazon and Smashwords as an ebook and in print for all you old fashioned types as well.

Amazing, and thank You

It is most amazing for me that I have people reading the manic machinations of a fragment of my imagination. I realize that  the usual interpretation of that phrase is a figment of my imagination, but, then again, who amongst you will say that I am either interpreted or usual? Many will say that I am fragmented, Just ask my publisher.

I enjoy what I do, if nothing else it gives me typing practice, and apart form a few inherent typos, I  have bettered my past search and destroy by a 88% accuracy.  No! Don't cheer, do not get emotional on me, or near me, as I have already explained that my altered ego, Old Pete, cannot handle too much emotion.

I have seen the reader count on the Adventures,  and it only emphasizes my original opinion that there are many seriously mentally ill people in the world.

However, (how could I depart this without a , However?)  Could you please ask your carers if you could borrow a  pencil to make some comment on the Adventures.  I am sure that if your carers really care, they might even spell, "Magnificent"  for you, or some other words that may give your sense of appreciation.

Short Story 'The Pup' - A Quote