Love of Words
Like many people, I have always loved words.
A happy, chubby child, I couldn't walk until almost 22 months of age but was happily chatting away from 9 months. I am assured that it was mostly random ramblings, but if you ask anyone who knows me, this hasn't changed a great deal over the years.
There are benefits and pitfalls for this type of verbosity, Charming versus Idiotic - a fine line often crisscrossed in a single sentence. I have talked my way into and out of more trouble than most people see in several lifetime, more in than out to be fair, the learning curve has been steep and often painful.
With a tongue significantly more practised, agile and enthusiastic than plodding thought, I often find myself listening carefully to my own story, keen to learn how it ends. Or my brain trying desperately to stop feckless tongue from deepening an already neck deep pit of pooh.
Love of the Written Word
Books, comics, newspapers, crosswords, scrabble.
Pretty much any way you could interact with language, I was there.
The Magic Faraway tree by Enid Blyton is the first book I remember reading on my own, followed by everything else she ever wrote.
I have not been without a book since them, backpacking through Europe, Asia, North America over many years or cycling across Eastern Europe after the wall came down, my pack always held at least three book - always and forever physical books, bugger the weight.
No matter where I am or what I have been doing, the last thing I do each night is to read, even if only a few pages – it calms the mind like nothing else.
Using my Words
My writing began in high school, my first book, when I was thirteen was three thousand words and about a rogue planet crashing into earth, illustrated by a friend the story won the school prize that year and my father used in his school for several years.
I loved it, writing something that other people enjoyed reading.
In 1988 at sixteen I won the Australian Bicentennial award for poetry, awarded by Thomas Keneally and Colleen McCullough - her Rome series is in the top 5 all-time historical fiction series I have ever read - will do full list another time.
The poem was written in English class, everyone else was reading Macbeth - reading was the only homework I ever actively consented to comply with.
My teacher submitted the poem without my knowledge, thus winning came as a great surprise and adventure, not only the two hundred dollars prize money but a free trip to Sydney (we lived 400 km's away in a town of 2000 people) and my first ever night in a hotel by myself, plus a formal award ceremony and dinner, the staff out of kindness even served me a few beers.
Late in the evening, when the dinner was complete, an older woman whose name I cannot remember, was making obvious efforts to seduce me, Ms. McCullough seeing me desperately trying to let her, interceded and chaperoned me reluctantly home – I still love her books, regardless of this pious protection of my pubescent purity.
Lots of Words
For thirty years, poetry was the only non, non-fiction I wrote, little diddies for my wife or kitty cats, or just stress relieving linguistic doodling. Then in January 2016, the South African government decided to rethink my industry - Renewable Energy, specifically solar power.
For six years the Renewable Program in SA was world leading with many thousands of megawatts installed and jobs created.
Unfortunately, as in all countries, politics has a marvellous way of inhibiting a countries success, despite (hopefully) best intentions.
Suddenly I found myself with no work, from a packed schedule to inertia in one act of parliament.
Two things became quickly apparent, despite all expectations, I was disturbingly rubbish at doing nothing and secondly, wives hate few things more than an idle husband.
Thus, despite a lifetime of being a cheque book handy man; if it can’t be fixed with duct tape or a hammer the choices are stark – pay someone to fix it or try myself and pay for a new one after that fails disastrously.
But now I found myself water proofing and restoring the bathroom, stripping and plastering the pagoda, building a hammock and other supposedly simple DYI chores.
Finally, with no excuses left, I sat down to write my book - something I have been threatening to do for so long that no one listened any more (I see from the look on many of your faces that you know what I'm saying).
Book one was four months of stream of conscious, a torrent that had been released, the spelling was atrocious and grammar abysmal, but the story was there, as you find it now. I truly hope you read it and enjoy it.
The writing of Book Two, Siege of Dragons, was a slower affair, as the need to do actual paying work reared its ugly head available.
Book Three, as yet to be named, is my work in progress and likely to be released July 2020
A happy, chubby child, I couldn't walk until almost 22 months of age but was happily chatting away from 9 months. I am assured that it was mostly random ramblings, but if you ask anyone who knows me, this hasn't changed a great deal over the years.
There are benefits and pitfalls for this type of verbosity, Charming versus Idiotic - a fine line often crisscrossed in a single sentence. I have talked my way into and out of more trouble than most people see in several lifetime, more in than out to be fair, the learning curve has been steep and often painful.
With a tongue significantly more practised, agile and enthusiastic than plodding thought, I often find myself listening carefully to my own story, keen to learn how it ends. Or my brain trying desperately to stop feckless tongue from deepening an already neck deep pit of pooh.
Love of the Written Word
Books, comics, newspapers, crosswords, scrabble.
Pretty much any way you could interact with language, I was there.
The Magic Faraway tree by Enid Blyton is the first book I remember reading on my own, followed by everything else she ever wrote.
I have not been without a book since them, backpacking through Europe, Asia, North America over many years or cycling across Eastern Europe after the wall came down, my pack always held at least three book - always and forever physical books, bugger the weight.
No matter where I am or what I have been doing, the last thing I do each night is to read, even if only a few pages – it calms the mind like nothing else.
Using my Words
My writing began in high school, my first book, when I was thirteen was three thousand words and about a rogue planet crashing into earth, illustrated by a friend the story won the school prize that year and my father used in his school for several years.
I loved it, writing something that other people enjoyed reading.
In 1988 at sixteen I won the Australian Bicentennial award for poetry, awarded by Thomas Keneally and Colleen McCullough - her Rome series is in the top 5 all-time historical fiction series I have ever read - will do full list another time.
The poem was written in English class, everyone else was reading Macbeth - reading was the only homework I ever actively consented to comply with.
My teacher submitted the poem without my knowledge, thus winning came as a great surprise and adventure, not only the two hundred dollars prize money but a free trip to Sydney (we lived 400 km's away in a town of 2000 people) and my first ever night in a hotel by myself, plus a formal award ceremony and dinner, the staff out of kindness even served me a few beers.
Late in the evening, when the dinner was complete, an older woman whose name I cannot remember, was making obvious efforts to seduce me, Ms. McCullough seeing me desperately trying to let her, interceded and chaperoned me reluctantly home – I still love her books, regardless of this pious protection of my pubescent purity.
Lots of Words
For thirty years, poetry was the only non, non-fiction I wrote, little diddies for my wife or kitty cats, or just stress relieving linguistic doodling. Then in January 2016, the South African government decided to rethink my industry - Renewable Energy, specifically solar power.
For six years the Renewable Program in SA was world leading with many thousands of megawatts installed and jobs created.
Unfortunately, as in all countries, politics has a marvellous way of inhibiting a countries success, despite (hopefully) best intentions.
Suddenly I found myself with no work, from a packed schedule to inertia in one act of parliament.
Two things became quickly apparent, despite all expectations, I was disturbingly rubbish at doing nothing and secondly, wives hate few things more than an idle husband.
Thus, despite a lifetime of being a cheque book handy man; if it can’t be fixed with duct tape or a hammer the choices are stark – pay someone to fix it or try myself and pay for a new one after that fails disastrously.
But now I found myself water proofing and restoring the bathroom, stripping and plastering the pagoda, building a hammock and other supposedly simple DYI chores.
Finally, with no excuses left, I sat down to write my book - something I have been threatening to do for so long that no one listened any more (I see from the look on many of your faces that you know what I'm saying).
Book one was four months of stream of conscious, a torrent that had been released, the spelling was atrocious and grammar abysmal, but the story was there, as you find it now. I truly hope you read it and enjoy it.
The writing of Book Two, Siege of Dragons, was a slower affair, as the need to do actual paying work reared its ugly head available.
Book Three, as yet to be named, is my work in progress and likely to be released July 2020
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