Remember to read on to the end for your free short story. INSPIRATION While the gentle sound of a babbling brook is conducive to reflective and creative moments, the constant sound of rain on the roof is not so much. A few quotes from articles in a recent journal seem determined to encourage writers to plough on regardless: ‘Inspiration’ is just a posh word for ideas. You just need a couple of ideas each day to carry you through (Robert Harris). Remember you’re writing when you’re not writing – it has to happen in your imagination first (Joelle Taylor). I think fiction should be heard in those whispering little voices in the back of your mind, the ones you could never articulate out loud (Dominic Nolan). It’s a lot harder to keep going than give up. You’ll get a lot of knockbacks but if you believe in yourself and keep writing you’ll get there (Dorothy Koomson). INSPIRATION
While the gentle sound of a babbling brook is conducive to reflective and creative moments, the constant sound of rain on the roof is not so much. A few quotes from articles in a recent journal seem determined to encourage writers to plough on regardless: ‘Inspiration’ is just a posh word for ideas. You just need a couple of ideas each day to carry you through (Robert Harris). Remember you’re writing when you’re not writing – it has to happen in your imagination first (Joelle Taylor). I think fiction should be heard in those whispering little voices in the back of your mind, the ones you could never articulate out loud (Dominic Nolan). It’s a lot harder to keep going than give up. You’ll get a lot of knockbacks but if you believe in yourself and keep writing you’ll get there (Dorothy Koomson). Such philosophy added to the rain, hail, flooding and bushfires this country experienced in recent times, suggests Aussie writers should be able to find something to inspire them. Whether it’s setting their story in a devastated geographical location, or using a natural disaster to add extra tension or a twist to their story line. If only it was so easy! WHAT’S NEW? The short answer: not much. It appears Eaglemount Books’ authors are solar powered and their battery power runs low on dark, soggy days. At times like these, it seems it is much easier – and preferable – to read a book rather than to write one. Although there has been some level of productivity over the holiday season, it is reported to be well below par, resulting in previous deadlines being scrapped. Perhaps now the sun has come through on at least some days, they will be able to overcome their inertia and become creative again. SOME LIGHT READING This month's short story for your enjoyment continues the theme of 'inspiration, and sometimes it’s amazing where inspiration springs from. In this case, it was a serious ‘feel good’ article on the news. What’s that you said? With my mind still working at even greater speed after the project meeting I just left, I raced for the station. If I missed this train, I would be spending an hour sitting around waiting for the next one, and I was keen to get home to finalise that project proposal before it went to management tomorrow. After scrambling on board just before they closed the doors, I made my way towards the front of the half-empty carriage and flopped down on a seat by myself, alone except for the turmoil of thoughts in my head. I might have sat there distracted and removed from my surroundings all the way to my station if it wasn’t for the sound of a mobile phone. The owner of the phone in the seat across the aisle speaking so loudly when she answered it further compounded the annoying intrusion. Hostile thoughts about people with no respect for their fellow passengers pushed the project from my mind for a few moments. While I tried to regain the thread of my earlier thoughts, something the woman said cut through everything else. I thought she said, “Every night when I come home, I find a naked body in the bed.” I spun around to look at the woman. No, don’t do that … not a good move … look away. I swept my eyes back to face forward. That’s how I stayed until I became aware of a long silence across the aisle. It was the turn of the person on the other end of the call to have their say. The silence stretched on until my travelling companion had the final word. “Yes, I know. Yes, I will.” Then, with a huge sigh, she began rattling around in her bag. Her call ended, I assumed she was putting her phone away, and I risked looking over at her. She looked up, saw me, and gave me the nod and a half smile as is often exchanged between complete stranger fellow travellers. But she looked downcast, defeated even. I couldn’t help myself. I apologised for my unintentional eavesdropping, and queried what I heard. “Surely I misheard you…?” “No, that’s what I said, and that’s what is happening. I’ve been doing a bit of cleaning out. You know how things can get away from you. So, I’ve been doing a bit each day, and each day I find another one.” “What, just a body…?” “Yeah, that’s all.” “How old are they?” “Oh, quite new by the look of them.” “Anything special about any of them?” I asked, and then realised how ridiculous the question was. “Not really… most of them are white, but there is the occasional coloured one.” “Oh, so, not racially prejudiced then?” Before I could say more, my station was announced. “I’m sorry, this is my stop,” I blurted out as I stood up and grabbed my bag. Over my shoulder, I called, “Good luck,” before, feeling stupid, I stumbled off the train. Dazed and bewildered, I wandered out to my car. Should I do something? What can I do? As it seems to have gone on for a while, I assume she has informed the police. But that’s odd. I hadn’t heard anything on the news about it. Maybe they are keeping it under wraps. That's when I realised I had worked every night on our project proposal and hadn’t even turned on TV. I would be watching the news tonight! And there it was… the mystery of the bodies solved. It appears a group had been turning plastic bottle lids into flower pots and selling them at markets to raise funds to support a local charity. A recent innovation was the purchase of some moulds to enable them to use the same process to produce small plastic dolls to sell and to give away to the needy at Christmas. All the attachments – heads, arms and legs – had worked well, but they had been having trouble producing perfect bodies. Determined to succeed, every day, they tried one more time, and every day they threw out one more slightly imperfect body. They had rigged a chute from a window to an open wheelie bin below, and the failures were tossed down the chute. It worked well until a few days ago when the gardener moved the chute out of his way, and then returned it to not quite the right position. Now, anything thrown into the chute sails over the wheelie bin and the low fence behind it, to land in the neighbouring property's garden bed along the other side of the fence… and, of late, one faulty body had been jettisoned into the bed every day. The End
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