Writing in the Tropics- Lori T. Hurst

Life in the tropics may sound like paradise but it does have a downside. Monsoonal rains, cyclones, the odd bit of mildew & cane toads are part & parcel of Summer in north Queensland. I can live happily with all of the above except the cane toads. Ugly repulsive creatures they breed prolifically. It gives you cause to wonder if Mrs Cane toad isn't hoping (in vain I fear) that one day she'll produce a handsome prince. When we first moved to Alligator Creek (stupid name there are no Alligators in Australia) to live perched on the top of a hill we felt a certain smugness that there was not a single toad to be seen. Sadly our grand state of isolation didn't last more than one summer. Our lights attracted bugs and the bugs attracted the dreaded toads. With each passing year the population has increased. Disgusting creatures they might be but we balk at using the usual methods of eradication i.e. Toadex, salt, bleach etc & opt for the most humane method of despatching...

While we have not grown webbed feet things have been pretty damp in our little corner of the world. Still, while fighting off frogs, geckos & mildew there has been definite progress in two significant areas of my life. Major project number one- our dream house is in the final stages of completion. That comment has a ring of deja vu but each month, week, day, it becomes more of a reality. The downstairs area is complete. The kitchen is almost finished and I'm sort of using it. In just a week or two (a champagne event for sure) it will be complete. Meanwhile I'm washing up on the deck. I'll almost be sorry to move inside away from the spectacular view of mist shrouded mountains and impossibly green palm fronds and ferns. Major project number two. My novel A Hint of Darkness is undergoing its final appraisal by my very exacting daughter. ( I hesitate to say nit-picking, but if there is a fault to be found she will find it) Editing a hundred and thirty seven thousand word...

Since it has somehow become November, I've come to the conclusion that blogging is not exactly my strong point. But in my defence I have been achieving in other areas. Writing -first and not necessarily in chronological order I have had two short stories published in the past six months Kathy doesn't Live Here Anymore and Terror in black & White as well as two articles published in Artgaze. However my biggest project has been to re-structure A Hint of Darkness . I have rewritten the contemporary part of the story which has rounded off and developed the character Ellie and added emphasis to the theme. Putting the MS aside for twelve months has given me greater perspective on what I want my readers to take from my novel. Writing is such a personal occupation, its like being an actor and trying to please an unseen audience. I'm now ready to do battle with the publishing industry. My research & outline for my next novel while time consuming is shaping up well. We ha...

Life in North Queensland can have its drawbacks. Our lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer are interspersed with rain, rain and more rain. By March, time oozes by in a sticky stream, as we wait impatiently for the wet season, with its steamy interludes when the sun comes out and the temperature soars, the bug invasion, (our bushy nine acres is an entomologists paradise) to come to an end. So bearing in mind that my last post was in July 2009- how did it get to be March 2010? Answer. Travelling, Family, Writing (I'm well into researching and writing the first draft of my second novel) and working. In fact nothing whatsoever to do with the seasons. My full time on call job of T.A. to other half in building our house is a labour of love, but doesn't leave room for all the other things I want to pack into my life. I've decided that instead of racing madly from one project to another, I'll invest in some dedicated time management. It's working brilliantly and it's been in...

On the 1st June, Writers in Townsville Society was privileged to host a Literary Dinner at the Townsville Motor Boat Club featuring authors Matthew Condon, Greg Rogers and Belinda Jeffries, who then headed out to the wild west the next day on the Q150 Writer's train. Belinda's debut novel Brown Skin Blue hit the book shops that day. Congratulations Belinda, it's a great read. You're a sensitive and discerning writer. I was very impressed with your use of simple language as befitted the character, yet the subtleties revealed a complex and powerful undercurrent running throughout the story. It would be very difficult not to empathize with Barry Mundy, he's done it tough and he's a survivor. The use of stream of consciousness in the river scene (no pun intended) packs a powerful punch and I must confess to shedding a few tears. Barry was a wonderful character and I hope that you do go on to write a second book featuring him.I feel sure you are definitely on a winn...

A Hint of Darkness  alludes to the darkness of betrayal. Emmaline and Ellie are born in different centuries, yet linked by kinship and the bonds of sisterhood. Destiny is no matter of chance. It is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for; it is a thing to be achieved.’ William Jennings Bryant 1 From the journals of Emmaline Gidley-King  Cooktown North Qld Australia  11 th February 1879 Mama: will I never be free of her malevolent presence? It has taken the most commonplace, yet startling of events, to prompt me to begin my writing. Last night, exhausted by Lilli’s constant demands, I fell into bed without performing my hair-braiding ritual. This morning confronted by a wild tangle of curls, and bemoaning my lack of discipline, I attempted to drag a brush through the knotted black mass. Through tear-starred eyes I surveyed my image in the mirror. My breath escaped in a hiss. Mama’s dark almond eyes stared back at me. That despised face. I r...

An aura of expectancy hung over the open grave . Onlookers dressed in Sunday best, sweltered in the afternoon heat, watching the dark earth rain upon the coffin. They made no pretence of sorrow. In a gesture of courtesy the men stood, heads bowed, hats held to their hearts. The women eyed me covertly from beneath veiled hats, hopeful of some small snippet of gossip. I guessed the thoughts hidden behind the prying eyes. Surely in three years Josephine Langley must have let something slip to me, her young companion, perhaps towards the end; unburdened her conscience. The mystery surrounding my elderly employer and friend had not palled over the years and those who remembered the beautiful, young, effervescent Josephine talked knowingly of ‘the tragedy’ at Cherry Tree Bay. Others whispered of betrayal and murder in that house of secrets. I kept my back to the spectators, my jaw aching with the effort of holding back tears. No one offered condolences. I wasn’t family. I dropped a spray of ...