Showing posts with label australian author. Show all posts
Showing posts with label australian author. Show all posts

Sunday, March 26, 2023

Building a story—Tricia McGill.

Find information on all my books here on my BWL Author page

It never ceases to surprise and amaze me, how my characters take over and make the decision over what will happen next. As sometimes happens, I get a short way into my story and realise one day that I am not happy where it is going, and even consider scrapping it and starting afresh. This unfortunate happening occurred to me a couple of weeks ago. I usually wake up one morning bright and early with at least a skeleton of an idea where to take my characters next, but sadly this was not to be this time. Everyday problems in our life crop up sometimes and annoyingly intrude on our ability to think straight.

Thank goodness for those characters buzzing around in our heads, not so much nagging us where to take them next but hinting that we at least need to give them the chance to get cracking. The moment I sat here at my computer and began typing everything took off, seemingly of its own accord and what happened in front of me next was that events that I had not even considered adding unfolded there before me on the screen.

I have always credited my Muse with assisting me in my writing as I am the first to admit that I am no Jane Austin or Emily Bronte, but simply a writer who likes telling stories. So now I have to wait and see where I will be taken next by this bunch of characters I created. 

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Sunday, February 26, 2023

Of Myth and Legend—Tricia McGill

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Many well-known legends throughout history have been well documented. One thing I enjoy about researching at the start of a new book is finding facts about certain obscure characters throughout history that I haven’t come across before. Doesn’t mean that they are not just as famous. My next task when starting a new story, after deciding on the setting, is to find names for my protagonists. Once I have that clear in my head, I can more easily build their individual character traits (this part I love, so therefore spend a lot of time on). 

I wanted my convict hero to be of Irish descent, and so found the name of Finn easily enough. What I didn’t know was that this name was derived from an Irish legend known as the Fionn (or Fenian) Cycle. This original Finn was the son of one Cumhail who led a band of warriors who were chosen for their bravery and strength. They took an oath to fight for the king and defend Ireland from attack. When younger Finn took over leadership of the Fianna he was known as the greatest warrior of all. What a wonderful story for my character Finn to relate when explaining where his unusual name came from. Actually, Finn does not know if this is true of course, and who knows he might have made that name up for himself knowing it might make him appear braver.

As my story is set in Australia (Tasmania to be exact), it seemed right to be researching the county’s legends more thoroughly. Everyone more or less has heard of Ned Kelly (certainly all Aussies know his saga well) but there are many other bushrangers and criminals who are just as famous here. I came across some previously unknown to me colourful facts about a bushranger named Martin Cash (1808-1877). Also born in Ireland (County Wexford) Cash was convicted in 1827 of housebreaking and was eventually transported to Sydney to serve his seven years, as many others were in those days. Cash’s story was that in a fit of jealousy he shot at a man who was embracing his (Cash’s) mistress. He claimed the ball wounded his rival in the backside.

Assigned to a George Bowman, Cash continued to work for him after receiving his ticket-of-leave. Once able to go wherever he wished he left for Van Diemen’s Land (Tasmania) along with one Bessie Clifford. Two years later he was accused of larceny and again sentenced to seven years (Some people never learn that crime does not pay!). He escaped three times, at one stage evading capture for almost two years. He was returned to Port Arthur, Tas (where my story is set) with another four years added to his sentence. He soon eluded two guards with the help of two bushmen, Kavenagh and Jones, and the three began their bushranging career, robbing inns and the homes of well-to-do settlers. They used no unnecessary violence and thus earned the title of ‘gentlemen bushrangers’. 

Cash heard that his love Bessie had deserted him for another man so risked a visit to Hobart Town, where he was once again tried for killing a pursuer. A former attorney-general, Edward Macdowell was secured for his defense but Cash nevertheless was sentenced to death. At the 11th hour the decision was reconsidered and he then was transported to Norfolk Island for ten years.

His story did not end there by any means and before his death he narrated his life story to James Lester Burke whose edited version published in 1870 was perhaps more colourful than the truth and has been reprinted many times since.

https://www.amazon.com/Uncensored-Martin-Australian-Bushranger-Lester/dp/0949459437 

More on Martin Cash: https://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/cash-martin-1885

Monday, July 26, 2021

Here We Go Again--Tricia McGill


Find this and all my other books on my Books We Love author page

Just when we think life is getting back to some sort of normalcy, the gates on our life slam shut, and once more we are in lockdown here in Victoria as well as some other states, as the virus spreads its ugly wings. When I get down in the dumps, which is not very often, I think of the fantastic years when my husband and I would pack our caravan and head off to parts unseen. Thank heaven I kept a pictorial copy of all our journeys. Usually about July when the weather is at its cold and dullest here in Victoria, we would go north or west in search of the sunshine. I still dream of those carefree days, lolling about in some tropical haven, or walking miles along a beach that seemed to go on forever, where it seemed that no pair of feet had trodden before. Being close up to a dolphin at Monkey Mia WA, or face to face with a Cassowary in a Queensland rain forest are memories to cherish.

Most people have heard of Sydney Harbour and its bridge and the Opera House, and perhaps a few have seen the movie Red Dog, featuring the dog who roamed from one end of Western Australia (and that is a very long way) to the other end in search of his long lost master (or so the story goes). I have sat beneath the statue erected in his honour in Dampier WA. As you can see, our dogs always accompanied us on our travels.   


Many a time we took a wrong route after being advised which road to take, which often resulted in getting lost, but thus seeing some of the most remarkable places in the country. Once we were advised to be wary of the roadworks being carried out on a pass over a mountain in New South Wales. Halfway up we were faced with rocks the size of melons on a barely made pass. Often it was just a matter of keep right on, as there simply was no alternative because it would have been impossible to backtrack.

Often the locals had great fun advising travellers of the perils to be faced when on the road. Old-
time Aussies have a great (and at times weird) sense of humour. There really is a dunny tree not far from Broken Hill—just one of the many strange sights we encountered along the way. Mind you, the advice to keep our dogs well away from water frequented by crocodiles was well noted and obeyed.

I guess my love of this country is what inspired me to write my Settlers Series, for it is easy to imagine how hard it was for the early explorers and settlers when they set out on epic journeys without knowing what the road ahead held for them. Whether it was carving a road across the Blue Mountains, setting a trail across land from east to west that must have taken months, or tackling trails where the only means of transport was by horse, oxen and even camel, it sparks the imagination.
I have never fancied myself as a pioneer and always preferred the comfort my road home gave me, and admit there were times in our early travelling days when I became slightly panicky knowing my family were not within a day’s trip away. My husband would have been happy to spend our whole lives on the road (as many people did and still would if not for the restrictions of Covid) but much as I loved travelling, I was always happy to return to my home state and always will be.


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Tuesday, November 26, 2019

Another trip down memory lane with Tricia McGill



Find all my books on my Books We love author page
While taking a look at some old posts of mine I came across this one I wrote in 2014. How times change. Although I stated at the end that I was never going to move again--I have done just that. Our requirements change with age. 

Anyway, this was my post titled—there’s no place like home.
Or is there?

It occurred to me lately that I live in a very confined area. I don’t drive distances as I once did, and tend to stay nearer home. A lot of this is due perhaps because the roads aren’t like they used to be in what us older people refer to as “the good ol’ days”. 

I’ve towed an 18 foot caravan around Australia when my husband had to give up driving after one of his early strokes, but as much as I would love to take off, and still envy folk who take to the highways and byways of this beautiful country I call home, I couldn’t stand the hectic pace on the roads these days.
A hair raising drive on an unmade road around a mountain

My pondering came about after reading Sandy’s post of a day or so ago when I commented that if I returned to my hometown I’d be hard-pressed after so many years to find more than about six people apart from family and a few friends who would remember me. Of course my hometown was London and to be more specific Highbury in Nth London, which was no small town by any stretch of the imagination.

I then pondered on the fact that perhaps I am a homebody who likes to be in familiar places, but then I started to think about the places around the world I have visited and it occurred to me I’ve been quite a traveller in my time.

My first trip in a plane was to San Sebastian in Spain. In those days a trip to anywhere in Europe was considered very extravagant. My sister was getting married at the end of that year and I was to be married soon after, so we took the opportunity to travel before settling down. While there we took a bus trip to Madrid, where we walked out of a bullfight in disgust after about half an hour. I guess we only expected all the grandeur of the parade and never considered the poor bull was going to die a slow death. I have to say here that we were told afterwards it was a very poor fight and the matador was not considered very good. We also went on a bus trip to a coastal resort in France. I can’t recall exactly where but do remember the horrendous drive where the driver seemed intent on killing us all, driving along mountain roads like a kamikaze pilot.

After my marriage my husband and I drove every year to Devon or
Cornwall. For anyone who knows that area of England my favorite places were Crantock or Lynton/Lynmouth. I expect both have changed considerably since the 60s.

Of course the biggest journey of all came when we migrated to Australia. We opted to come by sea, and sailed on the Fairstar, a recently refitted liner, in 1966. The sea trips from England to Australia were abandoned long ago, so we were very fortunate. It took exactly four weeks. Now when I refer to the Good Old Days you will understand what I mean when I tell you that along the way we went on a side trip to Cairo and the Pyramids at Giza. In those days ships travelled through The Suez Canal. We left the ship and stayed overnight in Cairo. Next morning we were up early and took a camel ride to the nearby pyramids. Then we visited the museum where the stand out was Tutankhamen's artefacts. Next we went by bus to Giza to see the Great Sphinx and pyramids. We met up with the ship again and continued on our journey. All this for 8 pounds sterling!


My husband went back to England about six times over the years, but I only returned once and that was in 1975. On the return trip we stayed overnight in Singapore.

I’ve travelled extensively in Australia, been right around the coastline once, up the inland road to Darwin, over to the west a couple of times travelling across the Nullarbor Plain. I’ve stroked a dolphin in the sea at Monkey Mia in WA, visited Uluru in the red centre, and swam in the warmest, clearest water you can imagine off the Great Barrier Reef, walked through magnificent rain forests, driven across unmade roads and along highways, seen a platypus swimming in his natural Tasmanian habitat, and emus and kangaroos running free. I’ve been across to Tasmania more times than I can remember, sometimes by air and other times on the ferry. For years we towed a caravan—our preferred means of travel as we could then take our dogs along. My husband would have spent all his days on the road, but I was always glad to get home, to sleep in my own bed.

So, back to where I started, there is obviously no place like home for me. But then home is where the heart is. My early years were spent in a tenement house in Nth London where I was surrounded by love and had no idea that we were not rich. But after my mother passed away that ceased to be home so anywhere my husband and I were together was home. I will remain in this house until they carry me out. My heart is here.

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Thursday, September 26, 2019

How long is long enough?

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What prompted this question was a comment made by a reviewer recently about my Mystic Mountains. This reviewer gave the book a much-appreciated five star rating but said, “I felt it was a bit over drawn in length.” This surprised me, as at 304 pages it is not overly long for a historical.

Asking a writer how long their book is going to be, or should be, is like asking the age-old conundrum, “How long is a piece of string?”

I envisioned a very different ending for Challenging Mountains, my recent release, where Tim’s family would have a get-together, but then as I drew near the final scene it told me that was enough and that is where I should sensibly leave my characters. Publishers have certain rules about the length expected for each genre and most contemporary stories are termed as ‘quick reads’ I guess, and Historicals and Time-Travels are expected to be longer.

One benefit of writing a series, especially one containing members of one family or clan, is that you can always catch up in the next book with characters you have taken a fancy to or hope those you disliked would have a not so happy ending. I fully intended Challenging Mountains to be the final book in my Settlers series, but as happens often with us writers, one of the characters started to play with my mind and insist I write her story next. Because Tiger and Bella (Book 1, Mystic Mountains) ended up with eight offspring I could be stuck with this family heckling me until I am in my dotage (which I fear is not too far away).
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Friday, April 26, 2019

How much detail is enough? Tricia McGill.

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When I am writing a historical or time-travel it always causes a bit of a holdup while I work out just how much of the day to day details to put it. Of course, it’s imperative to show just what life was really like in the early days of say, settlement in Australia, and I always feel that the biggest load was put on the females. Imagine life in the bush without all the personal aids us females need. Then there is cleanliness to worry about. It’s all very well letting our characters take a dip in the nearest river or creek, but just supposing it is freezing cold, or you have nothing to dry yourself on but a piece of rag, or worse yet, there are crocodiles, snakes or worse to worry about. Even when they reach a town there will not be any of the amenities we take for granted. No nice warm baths, showers or inside toilets. Melbourne did not have a sewage system installed until around the late 1890s.

By 1838, Melbourne was composed of 3 churches, 13 hotels, 28 places of business, 64 homes, making a total of 108 structures. On August 12th 1842 Melbourne became a ‘Town’ by order of the Governor and Legislative Council of New South Wales. Is it any wonder that in 1850 the river became so polluted a typhoid fever outbreak killed many people.


After gold was discovered in the Melbourne surrounds, it became one of the richest cities in the world. The population in the 1880s was around half a million, yet they gained the reputation of being called Smellbourne, due to the fact that all waste was still being emptied into open drains along the streets. These drain channels then flowed into the Yarra River, and therefore ended up in the sea. That included all kitchen and laundry wastewater, the contents of chamber pots, not to mention the run off from farms and subsequent industries. 

I have to imagine myself in the period I am writing about. Currently my characters are in the early 1840s of Australia. They have travelled the 600 miles overland from Sydney to Melbourne (Port Phillip as it was first called) on what could only roughly be termed a road. At that time it took around a month, so I guess wasn’t much different to the travellers of America who headed west on the wagon trains. I loved those old Western movies in my youth but never once considered the inconveniences they had to endure.

In our travelling days, we would be away from home for at least four months a year and after trying camping out in a tent once I insisted I would never go anywhere again unless it was with a camper trailer or motor home. All that we needed was stashed away in the van and I would always insist on staying at a camp park where we could connect up to water and power. Sleeping rough was not for me, thank you.

So that brings me back to how much detail to insert in my stories, never forgetting that I am basically a romance writer and not a historian who must stick rigidly to fact. I am not the outdoorsy type but did a lot of horse riding in my younger days, yet could not imagine being in the saddle for 600 miles over a month. The road in 1840 was not so bad for a while, once they left Sydney, and there were even a few bridges across some rivers.  There were a few inns to be found in the sparse newly settled towns along the way, but after the first 178 miles the hostelries became scarcer and then the travellers had to sleep rough. There was always the danger of attack by bushrangers, whose gangs often consisted of escaped or ex-convicts.

When researching for my stories it never ceases to amaze me how far we have come in a short space of time. I often feel that some things have not changed for the better—all the traffic clogging our highways and roads for one thing could be improved on. In the suburb where I live there is so much building going on—which is great—but the roads are not keeping pace with the traffic, causing congestion—one thing the early travellers did not need to worry about. Some folk have to spend a few hours each day in their cars, probably an hour or more waiting for the traffic to move. There is a supermarket on almost every corner, making it hard to envision going weeks on the road without a handy store to stock up. And that brings me back to the niceties of life—and the lack of them in the old days. Is it any wonder the settlers were made of tough stuff—especially those women who followed their menfolk over treacherous tracks to build a life for themselves and their children. I salute them.
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Challenging Mountains (Book 3 in my 'Settlers' series)
is coming soon.


Friday, May 26, 2017

A tale about a snake by Tricia McGill

Find all my Books We Love titles here on my Author page
I am primarily a romance writer, but in the past I have written some really odd short stories that are far from romantic. I blame my Muse who tends to go off on tangents of her own. But bless her (of course it’s a her) she helped me overcome obstacles along the writing path. My life has been blessed, so I blame her for some of my drearier stories.

I’m never sure what prompted me to write in the first place. If I couldn’t see to read or write I feel my life would have no purpose. People who don’t understand writers think we’re strange. How have you got the patience they ask? How can I answer them when I don’t know myself? All I know is that I often wonder what my mind would be doing if it wasn’t toying with new ideas. Perhaps I would have continued with my first love, painting. But the urge to paint was never as strong as the urge to write. When I read a book or a passage of writing that stirs me to strong emotions I yearn to have the same effect on a reader.

So, I hope you enjoy this little tale. Incidentally I love most of God’s creatures but I am sorry, snake lovers, but I can’t stand them.

All God’s Creatures

            “Leave it Red,” Joe warned the orange-tinted dog, and at the sound of the man’s voice the lizard scuttled off the rock where it had been sunning itself and disappeared down a crevice. With an adoring glance at its master the dog settled down for another nap. A water rat surfaced with a small splash, then, as it caught sight of the two fishermen and the dog, dived under the water, departing as swiftly as it appeared.

            “Snakes!” Willy announced, piercing another maggot with a hook and casting his line in to the murky water of the river. “If there’s one thing I can’t abide it’s them long scaly reptiles. Rats I can stomach--and I can put up with lizards--but them darned snakes I can’t abide!” He grimaced as he wiped his hands on a piece of dirty rag.

            Joe gave him a sidelong glance and chuckled. He knew what was coming; he’d heard this story so many times he knew it word for word. Quite used to being the listener rather than the talker he sighed resignedly as he stared at the bobbing red float on the end of his line. He could have a doze as Willy told his story in his soft monotone.

            Willy pushed his battered hat back a bit on his greying head as he gave his companion a quick glance to ensure he had an audience. “We were on our way to Queensland when I had the encounter with the old Joe Blake--face to face so to speak. Have I ever told you about how the bludger fell on my head?”

            Joe didn’t bother to reply; Willy would carry on regardless of his answer. “Lovely little spot it was, just outside Mackay. We were all set to spend a night at this caravan park, and I decided to nip in the loo. Good job I didn’t bother to unhitch the caravan before I went in there, for I was standing up doing what had to be done when this blessed snake--all of six feet long--fell off the rafters and hit me on the shoulder on its way to the ground.”

            The length of the snake had grown with each telling of the tale but Joe wasn’t about to interrupt his mate and tell him that once it was about two feet long, if that.

            “If I was ever going to flake from a heart attack, I would have done it then,” Willy went on, warming to his tale. “Then, what does it do? It slithers into a cubicle between me and the way out. I’m telling you, I didn’t have much choice about which way to turn; so I hops up onto the nearest toilet seat. Five minutes later I’m still yelling for help when I heard my Dot outside wondering what had kept me so long. I peered through the slats of the window high up the wall and told her to fetch help as quick as she could because I was sharing the space with a bloody Taipan.

            “I’m telling you, it felt like hours that I stood there waiting for Dot to come back, and I was watching the space under the door until my eyes were nearly popping out of my head, and also peering upwards in case the bludger had a mate up there waiting to join him. At last Dot came back and wondered where it was. I didn’t have a clue where it was, and I told her so as I poked my nose through the slat in the window.

            “Dot had brought the owner’s wife with her and this dear little soul was all of three feet high and was toting a rifle she could barely carry; it was so long and heavy. I got a bit hysterical then I suppose, for I began to yell a bit when I questioned her as to what she was going to do with the bloody weapon. ‘I’ll take a shot at it if I see it move,’ she tells me, and I thought, God, if the snake doesn’t get me she will. And the thought occurred that if she fired the blessed thing the recoil would knock her off her feet and she had a good chance of killing me before she ever hit the snake. Can’t you fetch your husband to see if he can catch it? I asked forlornly, but she informed me that he was out for the day. She seemed to have a sudden brainwave, for after mumbling something about fetching the snake man, she marched off.

            “Ten minutes later my legs were getting a bit shaky and it was growing mighty hot in that concrete block. When I asked Dot if she had any idea where she’d gone my dear better half decides to get smart by cracking that the woman may have gone to send a smoke signal to this snake charmer bloke. I quickly informed her that I didn’t see this whole episode as a subject for her cute jokes. My dignity was wilting, along with my temper after so long atop a toilet seat.

            “It must have been fifteen minutes before she came back with this joker who was covered from head to foot in red dust. You could barely see his tatty shorts for dirt and his singlet and hat were filthy. On bare feet as big as dinner plates he marched straight in to the toilet block and with not so much as a qualm walks out again with the snake’s head held firmly between a finger and thumb. ‘It’s harmless,’ he says. ‘You can come out now, it won’t hurt you.’

            “I didn’t care if it was as harmless as a new born babe, I wasn’t coming out until he’d fixed it, and I told him so in no uncertain terms. Ignoring me, he turned to the owner’s wife with a disdainful shrug. ‘It’s only a tree snake,’ he tells her. ‘You don’t want it killed, do you? They won’t attack you if you leave them alone. Even the venomous ones wouldn’t hurt you if you let them go their own way. Any snake that climbs is no threat to us and even the ones that crawl will not bother you if you stay calm and ignore them. They all deserve the right to live.’

            “She decided she wanted it killed, and despite this joker’s quaint ideas I thoroughly agreed with her. ‘It’s the fourth one I’ve seen this week, and they’re scaring my goats,’ she proclaimed, and I thought to myself: Bugger the goats, what about the guests! I could see he didn’t want to do away with the reptile but finally he whacked it on the ground until it stopped moving. I’ve never felt so relieved in my life, but I could tell he was upset. With a sort of pitying sneer at me he walked off.

            “Leave them alone, I thought sourly. What is he, some sort of a crank? I spluttered. It could have been venomous for all I knew! ‘No, he’s no idiot,’ she replied. ‘Just eccentric. He owns all this land as far as the eye can see. He loves snakes and believes that all God’s creatures have a right to live. I thought he’d take it home to join the others he has crawling about his house and garden.’ I shuddered. He was definitely a crank as far as I could see.

            “Anyway, off she went without so much as an apology, so quick smart I bundled Dot into the car and drove us out of there as fast as I could. The little old lady was peeping through her curtains. She should worry! We’d already paid her for the night’s rent in advance. As we passed the adjacent property we saw the snake man; driving a tractor around a paddock and sending up great clouds of red dust in his wake.”

            Willy sighed as he wound in his line. He shook his head at his empty hook. “I don’t like killing things any more than the next man,” he muttered, as he threaded another worm on his hook and tossed his line back into the water. “But snakes are killers and you have to get them before they get you, don’t you?”

            His float disappeared with a jerk beneath the water and he whispered excitedly, “I’ve got one,” as he carefully reeled in the taut line and landed the flapping fish. The silver and gold creature bounced, gasping, on the bank and Willy grinned. “Good one, eh?” he said as he disentangled the hook from the writhing fish.

            “What are you going to do with it; take it home for your tea?” Joe asked as they and the dog looked down on it.

            “Nope.” Willy grinned again. “I’ll put him back so he can live to fight another day. Besides, what with all this talk about pollution these days I don’t think it’s safe to eat them from this stretch of the river.”

            They both nodded sagely as with a flash of silvery scales the fish swam out of sight beneath the oily water.


Note from Tricia: This story was based on a true incident, and my husband was the one whose shoulder the snake landed on while on holiday in Queensland years ago. And incidentally, although Australia has some of the deadliest snakes on earth, this was the only close encounter we had with one on our many travels around this beautiful country. Although, one of our dogs did get bitten by one but luckily we got her to the vet in time and she was saved to live another day.   


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Friday, February 26, 2016

Where does the love for our country spring from? Tricia McGill

My latest release can be bought here.
I sit and watch the evening news and my heart bleeds when I see so many displaced people seeking refuge in Europe and elsewhere; fleeing a war that they had no part in, only to be shunned by some people simply because they seek a better life for their children. They have little hope of returning to the land of their birth, and this leads me to wonder exactly how they feel inside. I can’t imagine what I would do if I had to choose a few of my treasured belongings—enough to cram into one or two bags—and leave all that I love behind.

My husband and I and two of my sisters with their husbands came to Australia seeking a better life in a free land. Admittedly I came mainly to join my three sisters who already lived here, but it was also because we were offered a better life in a prosperous country. And it has been a better life, and for me in particular a fulfilling one. No wonder I say I have been blessed. That’s not to say I didn’t love my early days in England. But the weird part is that I have an affinity with Australia that is probably much stronger than the one I had for the land of my birth.

Australia has been kind to me in so many ways. At times I can be brought to tears at the sheer beauty to be found in some parts, and wonder at this odd love I have for my adoptive country. Recently I watched a show on my TV that disappointed me in so many ways. Which was stupid, when you come to think about it, as the comments that annoyed me were made about Australia and not about me personally. So why should I get so upset when an outsider criticizes things that I have no control over?

This program featured a well-liked Australian. I happen to like his shows so that is why I watched this one. But, it turned out that he had brought his two English sidekicks from his show produced in England, and the idea was to show them the “real” Australia. Sorry, but bringing two Poms out and taking them on a road trip from Darwin to Sydney down the red center of our country was not showing them the true beauty of the landscape (just my opinion). They constantly complained about the flies. Well, if you travel the outback in the hottest part of the year in a small camper-van, you are going to encounter flies, and there is such a thing as insect repellent that works really well. The side trips they had to endure was not my idea of a great road trip. Wild pig hunting? Not a pastime I would chose if I was showing off my beautiful country and its strange habits. Enough said.

For years my husband and I left chilly Victoria around July/August, hitched our caravan to our car, and set off on a 3 month jaunt around the country. We have circled Australia, taken the inland road right up the middle, driven across the Nullarbor Plain, let me see—four times, traveled up the east coast innumerable times, been to Uluru (Ayers Rock) driven across the Sydney Harbour Bridge countless times, and to be honest, there are only a few places in Australia that I haven’t seen. And, a lot of my writing got done during the stop-overs. My husband was a keen fisherman so I have traversed many miles of the country in search of good fishing spots, tramped many beaches that were so isolated I doubt I trod in any other person’s footprints.

A while back there was a discussion in our author’s group about the movie Red Dog, well I sat in front of his statue in Dampier a long time before he became world famous. I’ve touched a dolphin at Monkey Mia in northern WA, seen platypus swimming peacefully in Tasmania, hand fed wallabies, been close to an echidna, and all in their natural habitat, not in a zoo. I’ve slept in a haunted house in Strahan Tasmania, stood inside an enormous tree in Walpole right up the top of the country. When I see a motor home or caravan on the road I still get a lump in my throat and wonder where these lucky people are off to, and wish I was tagging along. I fear my traveling days are well and truly over, although my friend and I are planning another trip across to my second favorite state, Tasmania, in the near future.




This post was brought about as last evening I watched a show about an Aboriginal man who has made good in this country. He revisited the town where he grew up, and was explaining the affinity his people have for the land. And I can truly understand this, as although I wasn’t born here, I have such a love for this land it is difficult to explain. And I thank Fate, or whatever had a hand in my destiny, that I found such a haven.
All of my contemporary romances are set here, don’t ask me why, but it never occurred to me to set them anywhere else.
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Monday, October 26, 2015

Which comes first? Tricia McGill



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The age old question. Is it the chicken or the egg, or the other way round?


    But my query is, what comes first, the characters or the story? This is a question as a writer I am often asked. I always thought it was my characters as I believe my stories are character driven, but looking back I realize this isn’t wholly true.


    Taking my books one by one. Let’s start with Remnants of Dreams.


    This one was easy as the original idea was to tell my mother’s story. I was last to arrive into our large clan so my early years were filled with stories, related mostly by my eldest sister, of life through the difficult years before and during WW11. Alicia, the main character of course is based loosely on our mum. The last time I can recall her actually cuddling me was when I was really young, perhaps 4 of 5, so this tells you a lot about her character. Cherished by all her 5 boys and 5 girls, she was nonetheless not a woman to shower us with affection. But, she was always there for us and I cannot remember a time when there was not a meal waiting for me when I came home, when the fire was not already blazing in the fireplace when I rose on winter mornings when there was ice on the outside of the windows. Never was a woman so liked by her neighbors and those who knew her. My one regret is that she never talked about her early life or days before she met and fell in love with our father. There was a period when my sister and I even surmised that perhaps they never even got married as we had no tangible proof of a wedding. But we have this picture, which we presumed could have been taken on their wedding day in 1914.

    But I have gone totally off the subject. It was easy to create Alicia. Mathew, her husband, was a figment of my imagination. Based loosely on my father, in that he worked for the gas company and was gentle, kind, and a loving husband, he differed in lots of other ways. There were so many other characters in this book, some bearing similar characters to members of my large family, but mostly created to suit the story line. That proves therefore that the story came first and then the characters—or does it? I’ll leave that one for you to sort out.

    Now Mystic Mountains was definitely story first characters second. I attended a creative writing class years ago when I had barely written one or two full length novels that had probably reached draft number two stage and the tutor at this class gave us a task to create an opening scene that featured a character arriving in Australia in the 1800s after being transported from Merrie England. That one scene turned into one of my most popular books. Bella was the girl transported for a misdemeanor against a man of the aristocracy, so it followed that Tiger would be the arrogant Englishman she detested at first sight who would become her allocated Master.


    Distant Mountains was a follow on. It was supposed to be the story of Bella and Tiger’s eldest son, but somehow Bella’s newly transported brother took over and so it became his story. It follows that his love interest just had to be a woman of quality whose father was a bigot who would never agree to his only daughter marrying, or even socializing with a convict.


    I’ve always loved Time-Travels so thought it about time I attempted to write one. Mine was destined to have a twist as I sent a couple, Andrew and Liz, who had totally opposing personalities back in time to meet The Laird. This Laird bore a striking resemblance to Andrew and so Liz half fell in love with him. Now in this book the story most definitely came first and the characters formed in my mind once the story line was set in motion.


    Travis, the Laird’s story, followed. It just had to as I was also half in love with the Laird, and could not just leave him there in the past without finding out how things panned out for him. But when Liz’s friend Beth ended up back in his time Travis was a changed man from the rogue Andrew and Liz left behind. So, story came first as I had to get Beth back there somehow.


    Now, Leah in Love (and trouble) still has me puzzled. I can’t for the life of me remember where this idea sprung from and can only attribute it to my Muse, who does tend at times to go her own way. Leah’s story is the only one I’ve told in first person, but once Leah had established herself in my psyche, what else was there to do but let her have her own way and tell us about herself and the trouble she gets in. Her real name is Violet and as that is a flower what was her occupation to be but a gardener, hence her eccentric aunt, who taught her all there was to know about flora, was born. Sean, her love interest just had to be a PI or how else would she have been involved in so much mayhem simply by working on his garden.


     A Dream for Lani was characters first. This was another one my Muse took control of. I knew I wanted a shy, introverted woman who has lots of money but not much love in her life. Ryan and his children provide her with all the love she requires—after a shaky start of course.


    Lonely Pride is set in Tasmania. I often holidayed in this magnificent state in my early days in Australia with my Tasmanian friend whose mother was one of those characters that once met you never forget. But, I digress. A few incidents that happened on one of my trips there formed the nucleus of this story. I guess I can say that story came before characters in this one.


    Maddie and the Norseman is another of my Time-Travels. I was going through a Viking phase and absolutely knew I had to set my story back in Viking times, and specifically in the period after they had finished invading, ravaging and ransacking in Britain and were in the process of becoming honest tradesmen and traders. York was the obvious setting as it was one of the first towns settled by them. So, Maddie and her Viking Erik came after the plot line had been established. I do have another Viking story on its way some time soon.


    So, there we are, I really haven’t proved anything. Sometimes it is simply an idea that appears in the first light of dawn and the characters have to then decide how they wish to fit into this plot we’ve decided on, and other times the characters rule and insist on going their own way. Whatever, you can bet we authors love letting our characters show us the way.
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