It’s Christmas – time to start writing!

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You are ALL invited to participate in a Christmas writing event. Here are the rules. Write a story about you, a famous person, and Santa Claus. It has to be under 200 words. Post it to Quills Writing Tuition. https://quillswritingtuition.wordpress.com/ All through December I’ll be posting the results.

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About lynettefinch

Dr Lynette Finch. Once I was a poster designer and illustrator. I ran a small poster business called Mantis Prints, specializing in political posters during the odd days of the Bjelke-Petersen Government in Queensland. I’m told my posters hung on the walls of Rizhsky railway station in Moscow, although I’m not sure about that. They are in the collections of the Queensland Art Gallery, on several on-line websites, and in the following book: Lynne Seear and Julie Ewington, eds. Light II, Contemporary Australian Art 1966-2006, Queensland Art Gallery Publishing, 2007, pp. 110-117. In my next incarnation I was a senior lecturer in history. I published books and articles on urban health and feeding people in modern industrial cities, on the Queensland home front in the second world war and the role and history of war propaganda. Sometimes I wrote about Marxism and its impact around the world as well as intimate oral histories of communists in Australia, their experiences in conservative society, their role as social and political radicals in small towns and cities. Once I went through a death phase and wrote about the role of the Coroners Court in colonial society, about abortion and infanticide in nineteenth century cities, and about the role of gossip in policing. My research took a decidedly happier direction when I was granted an Arts Fellowship to Antarctica in the 2007/08 season, as research for a biography about Antarctic surveyor and explorer Syd Kirkby. I bunkered down in a blizzard in Brooke's hut near Davis station and imagined what it was like for Syd, caught for twelve days in a 150-knot blizzard, high in the plateau beyond Mawson in 1960. Some of my books: Australia’s Frontline: Remembering the 1939-45 War. With the rapid escalation of the Pacific War in 1942, Queenslanders suddenly found themselves perilously close to the frontline, especially those in the far north. The book is based on interviews of men and women who worked their farms in the north, some of them Italians and Germans who were interned as enemy aliens. Nevertheless, the book is essentially a story of courage, of community spirit and neighbourliness, and of the public and private war effort of a community facing crisis and loss. Dark Angel: Propaganda in Modern Warfare. This book traces the origins and development of propaganda and media manipulation from the 1800s to today’s ‘spin’ and ‘false news’. Why have governments at war allocated resources to propaganda leaflets, broadcasts, movies and art during major military conflicts? Read the book. You’ll find the answer. The Classing Gaze: Sexuality, Class and Surveillance. Concepts like sexuality and class share the same moment of birth during the nineteenth century as social inquiry turned to analysis of the workings, population growth, thought patterns, economic systems and internal bodily workings of humans (or Man, to be historically accurate). How did these ideological concepts impact in the real world? A great deal, is the short answer, outlined in this book. Young in a Warm Climate: a history of childhood in Queensland is an edited volume about childhood on the Queensland frontiers, at school, at home, in hospitals and other institutions. Fixing Antarctica: Mapping the Frozen South. In 1956, in the height of the cold war, the biggest wintering expedition that Australia had ever sent to Antarctica set out to map the great frozen landmass of Antarctica, driven by official fears that the Soviet Union meant to take the continent for themselves. The fourteen scientists were chosen from a field of hundreds of applicants. The surveyor, the central character in Fixing Antarctica, was Sydney Kirkby. Over the next twenty years, Syd Kirkby explored and map more unknown regions in the world than any other person in history. Earth, Wind and Fire is essentially twelve generations of my father’s mother’s family but it’s much more than that. It’s kind of Game of Thrones without the dragons. It starts with a kidnapped girl in Shelford, Nottinghamshire in the east midlands of England in 1618 and follows an unbroken chain of recorded births, deaths and marriages which spans four centuries until, six generations later, her descendants flee their farms in Ireland and join the diaspora to Australia. Using family stories, family photographs, published diaries and official documents, it’s the interwoven stories of five families struggling to survive amidst the most tumultuous times in European history. What’s next? I’m wandering into the boggy territory of creative fiction, writing a series of crime stories set on King Island, a beautiful windy island in the Bass Strait between Victoria and Tasmania. I’ve finished the first draft of Book One, The Rock. There will be seven, I think. I’m also writing a stand along novel, called The Key Collector. It’s about a World traveller, Angela who settles in a Tasmanian village near her daughter and grandson where she witnesses a car crash that kills three women. Convinced the collision was an act of murder, she digs into the tragic lives of the victims and is mired in a mystery stretching across three continents and reaching into the second world war.

4 responses »

    • Riding Shotgun with Santa
      He was stooped, using the hat to shield his eyes from the rain. Shadows from the streetlight hid his features. The sole occupant of the red convertible looked asleep when “Hey kid,” an arm extended, beckoning me to approach. I stepped cautiously from my blind wondering how he saw me through the leaves, the drizzle and the hat.
      “Heck of a night to be out,” his head lifted and turned my way. “Well come on. I won’t bite.” The words came in Thompson bursts and hit with the force of heavy rain. An awry smile looked like it needed a cigarette. “What’s your name?”
      “T-T-Tommy,” I stammered and his eyes said he wanted more, “Thomas Mayne, from number twenty four.” indicating the apartment complex down the street, but looking at the red paint, the chrome, bells and the ……
      “You ain’t on the list.” he said scrutinising a clipboard. “You skedaddle before the old man comes back a catches you. We got deliveries to make.”
      I turned and ran from the approaching bells. “Who’s next Humphrey?” reverberated a jolly voice.
      “Some kid named Tommy Mayne? Guess it pays to check this list twice Chris.”

  1. Keep your eyes on the road

    “What’s that in the middle of the road?”
    The red and white material looked like a squished candy cane – all tumbled and dirty and stretched and smelly.
    “I know! I know!” yelled Sarah. “It’s a strawberry jam covered giant pikelet that was going to be served to the queen and the baker was going too fast and it fell out of his wagon.”
    “No it’s not!” chimed in Bradley, “It’s what’s left of Michael Jordan’s Ferrari when it smashed into an ice cream van. That’s what happens when you don’t keep you eyes on the road.” He said in a very authoritative voice.
    I really love playing the who-can-come-up-with-the-most-interesting-story game. It’s great for stretching the imagination.
    Just then the most amazing thing happened. Out of the clear blue sky, what seemed to be a flaming skyrocket, appeared a gleaming sleigh pulled by two or three or maybe even six reindeer. With an enormous “Ho ho ho” Santa leaned over as the sleigh swooped past us and picked up the somewhat road-weary hat.
    “Thank goodness I found you.” Santa said to his hat. And with one more “Ho ho ho” he, his reindeer and his sleigh were gone.

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