Writing Woes

Quiet historic Raymoth lane where I lived

Eunice today – age70


It grieves me that I do not have the discipline, or an agent in lieu, to be a succesful writer. I t writing. I hate editing. Actually I can no longer see to edit. 

The answer is to find an agent who appoints an editor… or some other excuse. Mills and Boon are still waIting for a second book they invited me to submit when they said my first submission, Island of Flowers, did not have enough coflict (they had a format). 

That book is a romance featuring Poinsettia Garland (known as Pansy – the reason is in the book) and the notorious (in the family) page 22; “A we bit lis” – Auntie Joan. The hero is a French flower importer, tall, and pretty cool. He is not a pansy by the way.

 It is even ‘fini’, with a happy ending and all. Are you on the scent? I need to get it at least on Kindle before cd disks are no longer legible. 

Or do I join up the two halves of my historical novel, loosely based on some family details given to me by my beloved Nev on his death bed? No joke. It is an Australian multicultural historical novel. Sort of topical now.

I have written are loads of memoirs, some printed and collated into a book. Or ‘Ruth’s Garden’ – .poems and photos that I printed and sold through the local nursery. Oh it goes on. 

My family inherits, unwillingly, a large plastic bin of various manuscripts, plus disks and.scraps of handwritten paper containing spontaneous ‘poyums’ that got no further. Plus a fat folder of published stories and poems, ten anthologies and several magazines containing my work. I am not a failure at writing, just at the business of writing, and publishing.

One has to have a life to become a writer, or be observant enough to write about other people’s, but the crucial point is to write it down, print it out, get it published, and hopefully make it pay; that being the only measure os success in this day and age.

I have had too much life in my life. No one argues that. Point is, I have worn myself out having that life, so need to sit my backache down at the laptop, block out the four lanes of hurtling expressway only a few metres from my window, and get on with it. But not right now.

On the other hand, I was beginning to make a name for myself as a freelance journalist (Eunice Hobson. Pre-Google). I racketed around the countryside in my Datsun Stanza taking rolls of black and white film for The Land to print and publish…oh lots of stuff in my scrapbook. I even had my byline and got paid! I will tell you about that next time


Children’s Story – Dragon Days

Dragon Days by Eunice C English


One day, when the sun was shining, all the baby dragons in Paula’s house decided to go and play in the woodland.


Mummy dragon, said they could go on their own this time, because she was waiting for the arrival of their new brother or sister – or both, or two boys or two girls. You never knew with dragons.


Before they set off Paula told them where to find food and drink in the woodland. Then they and Spot all set off together, but being dragons they soon wandered off in different directions.


Spot found the shady pool by the big rock first and the tree root with lots of yummy witchety grubs. He wasn’t greedy, and left plenty for his siblings.


One by one they shuffled into the clearing, tired but happy. They had a great picnic of fresh witchety grubs, green pond weed with slime, and water.


When they bigger, Spot told them, they would be able to throw flame from their tongues to have bbq’d witchety grubs! ‘Oooooh!’ they all said together.


For the rest of the afternoon the tiny dragons played together; running under the waterfall, sploshing in the mud on the edge of the pond then jumping ‘splat’ into the water, The best fun was swimming around pretending to be the Loch Ness Monster and making each other laugh so much!

When the shadows came over the pond they knew it was time to go home for tea. They went in a line, like elephants do, and followed Spot home through the trees.

They had a great surprise when they got home. The newest dragon had arrived and Grandma had come to visit and made them toasted crumpets with honey to celebrate.

Guess how Grandma toasted those crumpets?

Then they all curled up together in.their big bed of soft ferns and fell fast asleep.


The End….for now!