READERS! You can purchase my novel
The Ozone Cafe for
$0.00 on Kindle Unlimited. This is a program designed to help authors and offers readers a wide selection of ebooks up to 40 to borrow for $14.99. I think it's a good deal as while my book is on offer for free, apparently, I will still get 70% of the Kindle cost $11.53 as royalties. I have joined for two months, enough time to guage whether the book has generated some interest. I am also amongst about a zillion other books and hundreds about cafes so the odds are against me. I just need one or two readers out there in the WWW (World wide Web) to read and review. I sound like I'm begging don't I? Not really, I'm just trying all sorts of things to keep the novel relevant. This program is part of my ongoing promotion and if I don't do it, no one else will.
Bream Street: circa 1946
Part 1
It was perhaps the first time a freezing sensation had overwhelmed
him. Age had run into his iron bones and most days he couldn’t get out of bed.
Not that anyone would notice, living alone all these years and he’d left
retirement too late. It was only the fishing in Satara Bay that had kept him
going, his beach cottage central to everything, and his blue-aproned chums. He
couldn’t bear that terrible noise again in his head; a bell was ringing pulled
by a string. He didn’t want this to happen tonight. Not tonight at the Grand
Master’s presentation. How many years had it been? Seven, he recollected, seven slow years
waiting for the position of Vice-Grand Master. All eyes would turn on him. Stan
the Man, they jokingly called him. But when it came to his carpentry skills,
they almost bowed in adoration.
He dressed in his Masonic
regalia, and opened his case checking the contents. The details were there for
the Spring Ball, his launch speech, invitations to dignitaries, parents and
members. He patted the envelope before clicking the locks. He would be proud to
introduce the debutants.
It was only 6 o’clock, so
he decided to take a leisurely detour to the Esplanade Hotel, have one or two
pints for Dutch courage.
The terrible noise started
again, more than one bell. He was still cold. Winter that silent oppressor. He
sat in the beer garden looking out to sea. He couldn’t make out the demarcation
line of the horizon with a rising mist coming in, the edges of sky and ocean
near the Heads melding into one landscape.
He hummed an old Irish
tune. When he finished his second pint he started walking towards the shops,
past the Diggers’ hall, the housie-housie shed and finally turned into the
front yard of the Masonic Lodge.
‘Nice evening, Stan,’ said
an old friend, slowly ascending the steps with a wooden cane.
‘How’s the back?’ asked
Stan.
‘Oh, you know,’ he replied,
knocking out one of his legs to keep moving, ‘can’t complain.’
The ceremony began at 8
o’clock with a three-course meal. After two new Apprentices had been initiated
into the Kingdom, it was time for the presentation. This time, Stan could hear
an orchestra of bells where there was none. He managed to be bold and so stood
behind the microphone, a little wobbly at first. It was his duty to swear
allegiance to the brotherhood; to wear the colors of Vice-Grand Master with
pride.
A growing tiredness
overcame him, and giving his excuses he left the Masonic Hall alone. A thick
fog covered the sleeping town, and at almost midnight, intervals of rain began
spotting the pavement and the blue of his coat. He hurried home.
When he arrived on the
landing of his front porch, he sensed someone in the shadows. There were no
street lights and something stirred behind in the dark. Silhouettes and shapes
in the gloomy night, then a heavy army of three men dominated his bent frame.
He moved his arms out to stop them, but their wild punches struck. He could not
fight them off. Beyond some distant
shore, Stan the Man knew that all the bells had stopped.
Monday, December 19, 2022
After waiting two years with an interruption due to Covid lockdowns and WA border closures, I spent time as a writer-in-residence at Eramboo Artist Environment in Terrey Hills, Sydney. While I was there I conducted a Poetry Workshop in Ekphrastic Poetry. An ekphrastic poem is a vivid description of a scene or, more commonly, a work of art. Through the imaginative act of narrating and reflecting on the “action” of a painting or sculpture, the poet may amplify and expand its meaning. A notable example is “Ode on a Grecian Urn,” in which the poet John Keats speculates on the identity of the lovers who appear to dance and play music, simultaneously frozen in time and in perpetual motion.
