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‘Why there should not be In-fighting.’

I personally, have not travelled all the way up the West Australian coastline, although, luckily for me, my Mother-in-Law has. During her travels, she has picked up memorabilia and souveniers (I always spell this wrong, apparently) , as one does when travelling.

This morning, I went into the spare room in our house looking for a broom, as I’d quite forgotten I’d moved it back to where it was originally meant to be. When I noticed the pamphlet/book on the floor, put there almost as if by accident, I remembered a movie I saw a few years back.

‘Red Dog.’

Now, this particular pamphlet from 1993, was entitled “Red Dog, The Pilbara Wanderer”, by Beverley Duckett. There had been a book, and I quote, “written some years ago by Nancy Gillespie”. The writer/researcher of the pamphlet, Ms Duckett had researched this story, along with a lot of people who provided stories and photographs of a red kelpie cross.

I noticed the writer of the booklet was very fond of exclamation marks. Now, one notices these things, because each writer, just like a gambler, has a “tell”. When a passage, or story is first written, before it is edited, these “tells” are fairly evident. After editing, and other people’s input, the tells become less evident and more confusing.

When one has done most of, or all of, the editing themselves, and finds it rather tiresome and annoying, one may leave the occasional “tell”, that others may find if they look carefully. This then gives this “copier” or “forger” more little habits to pick up. It is then unfortunate for them when the original author of a particular work finds someone else’s “tells” sitting in front of them, and thinks, ‘Hmm, there seems to be a few missing little things here, and a few added on things there, and some rather unfortunate word choices here, and some, “Hang on, is this originally in another language?” here.’

So, to prevent confusion, I now tend to leave little things of my own behind. For example, when I see something underlined on an editing or spelling program, which is an incorrect correction, I think to myself, ‘Let’s just leave my own mistakes here, and no one else’s.’

When I see someone who may have studied the way I write trying to add more of my own little tells to my own work, I think, ‘No, I think I will do it my own way, because if I did it another way, and didn’t correct it almost immediately, that would be someone else’s way of writing, or perhaps me in a past life trying to get through something as quickly as possible due to outside interference.’

I’m not in a hurry today. I guess, when one starts getting headaches one has never had before in one’s life, one begins to assume there is something going on. I guess, that’s when someone might think, ‘You know what, I’m going to take all the time in the world, for however long that time is, and I am not gonna let any bastard stop me, and that’s that.’

I will add a photograph of what I have of “RED DOG The Pilbara Wanderer” when I get a moment. I would hope the people on page 38 can see what unknowns are trying to do with this particularly written history, and perhaps do something about it by alerting each other.

A Dog called Moses.

When I lived in a place that was not this one, and when I thought many things were not going my way, and when I thought the light at the end of the tunnel was an oncoming train, I got myself a dog.

I found him in the newspaper. People don’t read the newspaper so much anymore, but, at certain times of the year they have beautiful messages in them, and, at certain times of the year, if you look very carefully, you’ll find something very special which is meant for you, and you alone.

This was where I found Moses. He was a mixed breed — part retriever, part sheep dog. For this reason, it took him almost a year to learn how to run.

Now, you might ask why it took him so long. You see, because he was part retriever and part very fast indeed, his body was too short, and his legs were too long. So, it took him a while to untangle his legs from under his body and learn to run properly.

He was a beautiful dog. He had long pointed ears, big brown eyes, a beautiful white chest with spots of grey, and mostly the rest of him was as black as black could be. His coat shone in the sun, and he was my companion for fourteen years.

“Moses”

We moved through the world together, my dog and I. When I simply could not survive in the coldness of the south anymore, we moved to a much warmer place. Me, and my dog. We lived with different people. Some we liked. Some, not so much. Me, and my dog.

Eventually, my dog and I found someone we could trust. He understood my dog was my dog, and that he really liked people anyway. He just didn’t listen to anyone else but me.

Oh, sometimes he would do things other people wanted him to do, but he was my dog, not anyone else’s, and that was his choice, and mine. So, we decided to add one more person to our dog family, and that’s when things really took off.

The man we had decided was “okay” became my husband. It took a while for that to happen, because we kind of did things backwards. You see, before he became my husband, we had, not one, but two boys. Count them.

Two.

Ha.

Ha.

Haaaaaaa.

Unfortunately, my dog was not with us when we found that out, so we had to console ourselves with cake, instead. It didn’t really help, but it made us feel better temporarily. It was not a very comfortable time for me, but my dog stayed beside me all during that.

When my children were born, it was obvious my husband would need to bring the dog to the hospital to meet the children. He was very proud. They both were, actually, but I think if that dog could have been any more gentle with these two little new humans, he would have turned into a flower. You see, Moses (my dog) had always been a bit of a hippy in my humble opinion. He just loved everyone.

So, in my head, when the dog met the babies, he was thinking, ‘Whoah, dude. Those came out of you? Wow, that is so cool. Can we keep them? I want to keep them.’ But then, you see, he had to go home and I had to stay in the hospital. Life imitates life sometimes, and that is just the way of it.

There are many stories to tell about Moses, my dog, but the most important… well, there are lots of important parts of his life I need to tell. The very most important-est, important part though, is that he helped my kids grow up for a very long time, and when he was gone he was missed very, very much.

That’s not the end of the story, of course. It never really is.

…to be continued.

Looking over Coalseam, Western Australia, 1997.

The idea of turning the story of the Trojan horse into something a little nicer, and possibly friendlier, seems an inexplicable idea to some. Those are the people we do not defend. Nor, do we attack them. They simply do not know any better.

“I’ve got three weeks to go…”

.’…until I get married, and three years to go until I’ve finished my studies.’

The handwritten note had been tossed onto the bed in front of him and he stared at it for quite some time. He hadn’t quite figured out why these things were all happening, yet, but knew he was partly to blame.

‘I didn’t take those pictures,’ he muttered. ‘I just look at them from time to time and wonder who these people are.’ Up until now, he hadn’t questioned why he’d stolen them from the lady’s page. It just seemed like a good idea at the time. He was beginning to regret that now, though. Now, he was starting to wonder if he might have made a terrible mistake.

‘Did you get much for those stolen scenes?’ asked the little voice in his head, conversationally.

‘I didn’t steal them. You said you weren’t doing anything with them, so I took them, that’s all.’

‘That’s considered stealing, in my book.’

‘I didn’t let them take it… you did… I did… I didn’t… Just let me think about it, you’d said.’ He was grasping at straws now, and he knew it. Breaking into other people’s laptops was pretty easy when you knew how, especially when one was an ugly little weasel who had run out of ideas for scripts. ‘I obviously didn’t think this through,’ he added. ‘But now, I think I might have made a terrible mistake.’

‘How many other times have you stolen script ideas and writing over the years? What other things have you nicked from people’s laptops? I find this very interesting.’ The person in his head was definitely not him, he knew that now, and he was beginning to regret many, many things he had tried to do over the last twelve months.

‘I was told you were offered a controlling portion of great and wonderful things,’ he cried.

‘I think you might be wrong there. I, personally, haven’t been offered anything. At all. Ever.’

‘Oh just let me get something out of my drawer,’ He wasn’t going to be getting anything out of his drawer today though, was he.

‘That’s not how it goes, buddy. No one says, “Just let me get something out of my drawer.” That is very badly written. I know where you’re heading with it, but you know, why waste a perfectly good scene on badly written scripts, when one could just say, “I have made a terrible mistake, and I apologise for taking several key parts of a story written on the internet quite some time ago, and putting it all into one shambling episode that ended up making not much sense at all”.’

‘Nobody watches it anymore, anyway, you said that.’ The producer had wet his pants, again. ‘ Free to air TV just doesn’t get the viewers it used to, and my boss dolled it up, and I think I am dreaming of something but I know we all get paid, so I just don’t understand why no one went and paid the lady we got these things off, because we didn’t think it was a good idea either. How do we get hold of someone we owe a great deal of money to, when I thought she was dead? Why didn’t anyone fly out west and offer her something at least?’

‘Like I said, someone else did it, not me,’ said the sad kid. ‘I just went along for the ride and stayed up all night watching the kids getting better, cos that’s what it’s all about, right?’

‘Right. It’s also about not getting greedy and taking other people’s things because you’re trying to “Save a show”. I guess you mob have only got two choices now. You can’t exactly say it’s iconic anymore, anyway, and, although I am very sure it is very close to some older actors hearts, I am also quite sure they would be as equally disgusted as I am, that someone, or several someone’s, have sunk to such an incredible new low.’

‘Look, we just forgot you guys were on the other side of the country, that’s all. No one goes there anyway.’

A number of people who had lived in a certain part of the world until just recently, raised their eyebrows at their eastern states counterparts. It wasn’t like they could say much, not really. They had forgotten about this place themselves.

‘I guess the more of it I see appearing, on that show in particular, the higher the compensation will be,’ the frequent flyer from one side to the country to the other nodded his head. ‘No one should be making money out of other people’s misery, should they? Especially when the entire story, except for just a few little snippets on the end, was written at least ten years ago, and the lady in question is not doing too well, not really. You see, someone thought it would be a great joke to break into her laptop and steal all the things she’d been writing, and other things besides, and despite the fact she spoke with several people, no one did a fucking thing about it. So, here we are holding out a very empty hand full of nothing, and suggesting perhaps you put something in it.’

Just checking in…

Hi! In case some people were wondering, there are a few things I have not agreed to at all.

Got a few little photos and vids available of written work I’ve done over the years,  as well as a copy of something I wrote. It was rather large.

Oh yes, by the way, I’m not dead yet. I do know some people who perhaps have copies of things I’ve written, so I expect I’ll be receiving some kind of compensation for stolen manuscripts and the ideas held within.

As I sit here, having watched a certain TV show this evening, I’m rather inclined to be feeling very poor, seeing as I’m currently unemployed, have no source of income for myself, and am relying on my husband of nearly 26 years to pay the bills.

I guess this is okay to happen to people who can’t afford to defend themselves? Even published authors, apparently.

It’s a shame I contacted people about this last year when I first suspected what was going on.

It’s also a shame I have the original work, before it was edited by myself. All the ideas remain the same, aside from a discussed ending within my immediate family and an overseas group of writers. There may also be little snippets of the fact I’ve been working on this for some time, floating around the internet… if you know where to look.

Sorry, private phone number now… but I’m sure you’ll be able to get in touch with someone if ya need to.

Mostly fiction.

… Beth reached the next intersection without mishap, once again stopping to poke her head around the corner. The short hall she stood in seemed to be made of patients (inmates, she muttered in her head) rooms only. If the rooms were anything like her own, and she fancied they were, there would be sealed glass windows, and only one exit. If she stayed in the halls and continued to deviate to the right at each intersection, surely she would find a door to the outside soon. It seemed logical.

Well, it does to me, anyway, she thought. ‘I’ll be okay.’ She made her movements slow so as not to attract attention, remembering her days back in the field. In the field? Never mind, go with it, she thought to herself. Good plan, what’s next? Oh, I’m talking to myself again. Fan-bloody-tastic.

If she had been a tad more mobile, she’d have crouched out of eyeline, but she did not think she was quite up to that yet. Pushing the wayward thoughts from her mind, she concentrated on the mission.

Oh, the mission now is it? No wonder everyone thinks you’re a raving lunatic.

This would be the nurses station. A large white sign hung on the wall, EAST WING written in bold black letters. Underneath it sat a young man behind a wide desk. He had administered her medication earlier. She frowned. It might be difficult to manoeuvre past this jumped-up upstart. As she watched, she heard something buzzing softly. The nurse paused in his writing and picked up a nearby phone. Beth held her breath as he glanced at the screen in front of him.

‘Thankyou,’ he said into the receiver before placing it gently back onto a pile of files. He shuffled the papers in front of him and stacked them into another neat pile, then swivelled in his chair to open a drawer with gay abandon, flinging paper into the air everywhere and laughing, with equally gay abandon. Okay, perhaps the last part didn’t happen, but never mind.

Now was her chance.

Beth tiptoed, very sneakily indeed, across the open space in front of the desk (later, okay, I’ll fix it later). Keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the nurse, she snuck a brief glance at the corridor ahead. Four more steps, and she’d be out of there. Three. Two…

CLANG.

The bombastic metallic thunk of the metal bin toppling sideways onto the tiles, followed by a, not unpleasant, rolling rattle as the round lid fell off, froze her mid-sneak, one raised foot having just kicked the damn thing into the middle of the floor. She looked up in horror.

The nurse casually turned away from the open drawer and smiled pleasantly, if slightly toothily. ‘Would you like some help with that?’

‘Bugger.’

Verily

‘Yeah ana yew, do boobybom…’

The name of the song was Beautiful People, but it took me years to figure that out. The band was called Australian Crawl.

I thought to myself when I heard the song (possibly every time I heard the song to be honest), ‘Where are the lyrics saying beautiful people?’ All I could hear was those words up there, and some guy swearing about ‘never gonna make it, never gonna take it, never gonna make it, never gonna take it down.’

Oh I did hear the words, “Pee pole”, and didn’t think it was inappropriate at all, because I didn’t understand anything else about it.

I had a friend who thought (Cold)Chisel’s song about cheap wine had three day old toast in it. It did not sound very appetising. I did question that, but she was adamant that’s what it was.

As for my husband, he makes it very difficult to remember the meanings of anything, because he makes stuff up all the time. It’s bloody annoying sometimes, but absolutely hilarious at others. I still remember the time he very seriously explained to me he’d heard “someone got salamander poisoning”.

So, I guess when I hear the words in my head to “Posthumously”, I correct it very carefully to “post humorously” because posting anything else wouldn’t be too flash, would it. It reminds me of the little girl across the road when I was a kid, who had found a mouse in her toaster that morning. It looked like it had been toasted for approximately four minutes, slightly more, and she had put it in a little bag to take to school for show and tell. I do not remember what the outcome was, but do remember being slightly horrified at the time.

This is why, a lot of the time, if someone else writes something, and it isn’t quite right, I’ll correct it in my head. If it’s mine, sometimes I’ll leave it there to remind me that no one is perfect, least of all myself. It all takes me back to a crispy mouse in a paper bag.

Meanwhile, I’ll leave you with a clip to a song.

Genetic makeup doesn’t contain Religion.

Let me tell you the one thing that will not appear in your genetic makeup. You may have places, you may have tones, you may have countries, you may have new things to learn.

There is never, ever a time you can announce you have one percent of a religion. It will never appear in your bloodstream. It will never appear in your cellular makeup. What does appear, is nature in all its beauty. That is all.