by Pat Ritter
praised my writing in a similar manner almost using the exact words as quoted by my English teacher two decades before. Again bells and whistles didn’t explode in my mind.
From this moment began a journey I never imagined would happen to me. I began to write, or should I say given an opportunity to write, my way, instead of worrying about how to write. This world became my oyster.
Lessons learned along this journey forced me to change directions many times, for instance, with the first book I co-wrote with my lecturer who told me I had a gift for writing. I believed him at the time however didn’t understand this so-called ‘gift’. I had no idea what he or the other teacher meant.
Writing and having published the first book over a quarter of a century ago, I decided to write and publish my own book, writing and publishing myself. Did I know if it would work? I didn’t have a clue, but this was part of the journey with lessons along the way to understand writing.
After self-publishing the second book, whilst continuing to sell the first book, my mind told me my future to be in writing. I began to write, write and write. This became an obsession, my mind created ideas to write, develop these words into sentences to complete a story.
One book led onto the next and after twenty-five years I’ve now written my fifteenth novel. How did this come to be such an important part of my life? From the beginning I never had any idea of writing and only wrote the words echoed from my mind. Was this sufficient to become an accomplished published author?
After all of this time, the world is my oyster, because my self-belief tells me I can do anything to achieve my goal in life. I love to write and now my books are sold across the globe in fifty different countries.
To think as a fourteen year old lad sitting in an English class, a teacher had the foresight to remark, I had a gift for writing in that I write the way I speak which is unique. I can’t thank Mr Imoff or lecturer Mr Bob O’Sullivan enough who told me exactly the same words twenty years later, for each teacher to praise their student on his journey of knowing his world is his oyster.
Word count: 473
They Don’t Make Men Of That Calibre Anymore
Darren Lockyer retired from playing Rugby League a couple of years ago. His career spanned almost twenty years during which time he captained his country, state and club.
As a child I witnessed Arthur Beetson, another Rugby League legend, strange as it may seem both players originated from Roma, a country town west of our city. Both captained their countries, state and clubs through their illustrious careers.
Arthur Beetson became my hero watching him score try after try each Sunday hoping to one day be as good as him. Alas I never reached those heights or anywhere near what Arthur accomplished.
My family moved to the seaside suburb of Deagon and Arthur moved to Redcliffe to play, not far from where I lived. Most Sundays, at every opportunity, I’d try to watch Arthur play, particular in 1965 when Redcliffe won the State Premiership. You’d swear I’d won the Premiership the way I felt. Arthur went on to represent his country to show his brilliance as a Rugby League player.
At the end of his career Queensland Rugby League introduced ‘State Of Origin’ when players were selected by their state in which they first played, to represent their State.
Before the introduction of ‘State of Origin’, players were selected who played for their clubs. The year 1982, Arthur Beetson captained Queensland in the first ‘State Of Origin’ in which Queensland beat New South Wales. This changed the history of Rugby League between States. Queensland took the upper hand and still holds most wins since the concept began.
In 1988 Brisbane Broncos joined the National Rugby League in Brisbane to play against all other national clubs. A couple of years after their entry into the National Rugby League along came a young player from Roma, his name Darren Lockyer.
Darren began his role as fullback and eventually went on to play for his state and country in that position. Brisbane Broncos needed a new player in the position of five-eighth. Wayne Bennett, the coach of Brisbane Broncos moved Darren from his favoured position of wearing number 1 to wear number 6.
Prior to Darren moving to number 6, he stepped into the boots of many famous players who’d carried the Broncos number 6. Darren excelled at this position and went on to captain his country, state and club wearing number 6.
Unfortunately they don’t make men of that calibre anymore and I wonder what’s in the water at Roma to produce these two great players of Rugby League.
Word count:427
This Is My Theory
Human nature fascinates me to a degree of frustration. We’re different because if we were all alike, we’d know what each other is doing or going to do.
Let me explain my theory. In my other life I worked as a detective which skills encompassed identifying facts which turned to evidence in solving crimes?
Whilst I loved this occupation with passion, I became amazed how many people ‘didn’t tell the truth’ or ‘twisted the truth’ to escape punishment. After leaving this type of work I ventured onto being an author.
One occupation led from the other because my role as an author didn’t alter too much from a detective. I still needed to find the truth and stick to the facts. Along this journey I discovered another theory: ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’.
Beginning my journey as an author, I wrote stories and books about my own life. Then I ventured on with writing lifetime stories of other people. This experience gave me, with my previous occupation as a detective, skills to identify ‘if the person was telling the truth’.
Along this journey my skills improved with an unknown degree of intrigue to study behaviours or habits of different people I wrote about. For instance, because I initially wrote books about my own life I questioned my own self. Questions like, ‘why do I love to write?’ Other questions such as ‘where did this writing gene come from?’
This question burned in my brain, ‘how come others in my huge family are not authors?’ I decided to investigate this theory.
Last year I wrote and published ‘The Shearer’ a story of my great grandfather who was a shearer in 1891. My grandmother always spoke of her father being the leader of ‘The Great Shearer’s Strike in 1891’.
My grandmother passed away many years ago so I wrote her life story as a tribute to her life. I mentioned when she was ten years old her mother died giving birth to her youngest sister Nellie.
At the time her father couldn’t cope with the loss of his wife, plus the responsibility to rear four children under aged ten. He gave them away to families in Cunnamulla ‘like a litter of pups’. Nellie went with a relative to another town. My grandmother never saw her sister again.
Out of the blue I received an e-mail from a lady who told me she’d read my grandmother’s story on my website and she was Nellie’s eldest daughter. She’d been searching for her family for forty years. Ninety-nine years passed from the time Nellie was born to the time her daughter contacted me. After we confirmed this wasn’t a hoax she told me she also wrote and published books.
My mind went into overdrive; a light bulb flashed inside my head, my theory of ‘behaviours or habits’ must be in the genes of families. The proof lay in the connection of my newly found second cousin to myself being both authors. This is my theory.
Word count: 510
To Mean To Die
Death is one thing we can’t avoid, when, we do not know. I remember standing beside my grandmother hearing her call for help. She was dying and I couldn’t do a thing about it.
Presently I’ve found myself in a similar situation. My partner’s father is hospitalised. Last month he celebrated his one hundred and second birthday. I’ve never met a person who possesses the will to live as much as he does. In my opinion, he’s to mean to die.
I could share a million stories about his frugal living, but let me focus on the present situation and how it happened he landed in hospital.
Over the past ten years he
’s lived on his own, cared for himself daily by cooking, cleaning and washing his clothes. Over the recent Christmas break he joined his daughter and their family for a break.
One morning he slipped and lost his footing, fell to the floor in his bedroom resulting in a cracked vertebra thus being hospitalised. He is the most independent person I’ve ever known and whilst in hospital attempted to get out of his bed only further injuring the break.
For any other person of his age they would’ve taken their last breath. Not this fellow, he’s to mean to die. I’ve seen the way he lives, total frugal ways which he will never change, anything free. He wants to live on forever and of what I know of him, perhaps he may, who knows when his time will come.
Over the past five years there were many times when he should’ve met his maker but for some reason or other he survived. Has he got something else to prove? Perhaps but the long suffering he puts his daughters through only goes to show how true it is he is to mean to die.
He’s a survivor having been a prisoner-of-war in Changi Prison during World War 11, then recovering to build a future in farming pineapples and then a Councillor on the local council for twenty-one years before his retirement.
Only his maker will know when it’s time to leave and until then he’ll keep on going as he has in the past. He shared with his son-in-law recently he wanted to live