Don't forget your free short story at the end of this newsletter TOP MARKS It’s usually criticism and not congratulations voiced by residents about their local Council. On this occasion, it's top marks to the Mackay Regional Council. But the major prize goes to the library’s Community Outreach Team for their efforts in securing the Sydney Writer’s Festival sessions for local residents. All sessions will be live-streamed on roster at either of the two city libraries over the Festival from Thursday to Sunday at the end of May. One session is also scheduled for screening at Sarina Library. A special mention also goes out to the Sydney Writer’s Festival committee for allowing this to occur. Unlike the Melbourne Writer’s Festival which requires libraries to purchase a ticket for each person for each session attended at the library, the Sydney Writer’s Festival organisers make their program available free to libraries. A key speaker on the Thursday morning is Jane Harper, who will be discussing her latest book, Exiles, which is likely to be the final instalment in her recent series.. WHAT’S NEW?
There’s not a lot to report this month. Neive Denis reports the first draft of her new Sonny Whittington, Private Investigator, cosy crime novel only requires about another week's work before she types The End. Kayla Danoli’s new book A Life of Tea and Sugar is close to being released after a much-needed bit of remedial work on the opening. Now the editing process is all but complete, the difficult business of developing a cover and writing the blurb will occupy her for the next little while. Release in May might prove ambitious, but it will be out before the end of June. SOME LIGHT READING Below is this month's free short story. Where the inspiration for it came from remains a mystery. The Shortcut It was late. Michael McCormack was shocked at how late it had become. They say ‘time flies’ and all that, but he now needed to hurry home to await his important phone call. Pushing his way through the crowd milling around just inside the entrance to the fairground, his only thought was to leave the ground and head home as quickly as possible. How he now wished he had driven to the fairground instead of walking. But, when he left home, he found it was so pleasant outside, he decided the walk would do him good. As he strode through the cars parked out front of the ground, he checked the time again. No, he hadn’t misread it before. It was late and he needed to get a move on to be home in time. Without checking for oncoming traffic, he jogged across the road and onto the pavement on the other side. “The shortest and quickest way is by Tilford Lane,” he muttered, as he turned and headed for the lane. His mind argued that this was not his favourite route, and reminded him that he rarely used Tilford Lane. But, tonight he was in a hurry and the lane was the fastest way home. On entering the lane, he abandoned jogging in favour of striding along at a brisk pace. It was a cool evening, but the lane felt cold and dank. Despite his exertion, the chill of the lane seemed to seep into his bones. Suddenly, something stopped him in his tracks. “What has that?” he whispered to the night. “I’m sure I heard something.” Standing still, rigid and barely breathing, he strained his ears for any unexplained sound. Nothing. His ears picked up nothing other than the usual murmurs of the night surrounding him. After a few moments without hearing any further strange noises, he reminded himself of his need to hurry. Lengthening his stride, he moved on again. The cold, damp environment created by the overhanding trees continued to unsettle him, and the dew beginning to drip from them was wet, cold, and unpleasant. To take his mind off his discomfort and nervousness, as he eyed-off the long, dark track ahead of him, he thought about the events that led to his present situation. He had no interest in going to the fair. Fairs were not his ‘thing’, never had been. Then, in a weak moment during a conversation with his neighbour, Mrs Gilham, he promised he would go to see the silver jewellery Mrs Gilham’s daughter would be selling from her stall. He told himself he could handle going to the fair just this once. After all, he had heard so much about the jewellery Mrs Gilham’s daughter made, he was quite keen to see it. And, he conceded as he strode along, her jewellery hadn’t disappointed. He couldn’t resist an attractive little silver brooch, and bought it to give his ‘special someone’ for her birthday. And he patted the tiny package now tucked safely his pocket. There it was again. His ears picked up an approaching sound. Was it a horse? Or maybe a big dog, or some other ferocious animal? Whatever it was, it sounded as though it was coming towards him. He began jogging again. Then, above the sound of his pounding feet and thumping pulse, he heard another sound, less distinct but closer. Stepping up his pace even further, he ran as fast as he could along the dark lane. Out of breath, but not game to stop, he could hear that sound closing in on him. Never in his life had he been so scared. Was there anywhere along the lane where he could hide? He searched his memory without success. The one thing he did remember clearly was how thick the scrub bordering the lane was, and how impenetrable. He also dredged up memories of tracks to houses leading off from the lane. They were only narrow dirt tracks but there were a few of them at intervals along the lane. As you passed those tracks, you could see the houses at the end of them. Tonight, he hadn’t seen any houses, not even the lights of distant houses. Where was everyone? The area surrounding the lane was deserted. Of course, tonight no one was home. They were all part of that crowd at the fairground. No one was around to help him. He had no option but to keep running as fast as he could until he reached the other end of the lane. But the lane seemed much longer than he remembered, and he couldn’t discern any light in the distance ahead. His lungs felt as though they were about to burst. It was no good, he’d have to stop for breath. Gasping and bent over with his hands on his thighs for support, he tried to prepare himself for the fate that must surely befall him at any minute. Then, through his rasping breath, he heard it. “Hey, Mister, wait up. Wait up, please, Mister.” The voice sounded quite young and not at all threatening. He turned around to face back along the lane in the direction he had come. Pounding footsteps came closer, and a small shadowy figure emerged from the darkness. “Aw, gee, thanks, Mister. For a while, I thought I might have to chase you all the way to town before I caught up with you.” He was a young lad of perhaps nine or ten years old… and in a lot fitter condition than Michael McCormack, Michael conceded. While Michael stood still gasping for breath, the lad told his story. “You dropped your wallet near my mother’s jewellery stall at the fair. She sent me after you to give it back to you. Here it is – and now I had better get back before my mother sends out a search party for me.” Embarrassed and seemingly struck dumb, Michael accepted the wallet without a murmur and flicked it open. “It’s all still there, Mister. Honestly, I didn’t take anything out of it.” “Thank you,” Michael wheezed. “That’s a wonderful thing you did for me tonight, and I’m sorry you had to run so far to catch up with me. Here’s a little something for your trouble, and to help you enjoy the rest of your night at the fair.” As he handed the folded note to the lad, it occurred to Michael he had no idea how much he had given the boy. It was too dark to see the money as he handed it over, but it didn’t matter. It could be the highest denomination note he had in his wallet for all he cared at that moment. The lad was entitled to every cent of however much it was. The End
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