For those of you who missed out, below is an excerpt from the Team Dusty Gazette which was sent to my subscribers in January 2024. To be the first to get the news subscribe here – you’ll also receive a free book of stories including Shanty Shooting which won the Scarlet Stiletto prize in 2023 (Mystery with History).
Ciao Team Dusty! Here in Melbourne the city is buzzing with tourists and fun, in part due to the Australian Open Tennis. The weather, however, is not playing ball. Melbourne is well known for its erratic weather and this year is no different. We have had serene temperate days befitting our ‘temperate oceanic climate’, high humidity days, cool days, drizzle days and thunderstorm days and all in a random mix. January is usually a relatively dry month in Melbourne but this year we have had the wettest start to a year since 1996. I accept some responsibility for this because I have been asking for rain for weeks. You see, I used a little of the prize money won by my story Shanty Shooting in the 2023 Scarlet Stiletto Short Story Awards to buy an umbrella in a beautiful rich yellow from Blunt Umbrellas who make top of the range umbrellas that are designed to last a lifetime. I call it my ‘Rolls Royce’ umbrella. I was so pleased with it I wanted to show it off, so I needed rain! When not out doing my Mary Poppins impersonation, I’ve been working on Dusty Kent #8 - almost every day. It’s a blissful experience hiding away in my ‘hayshed’* with nothing else on my mind except writing. I get so lost in ‘the zone’ I sometimes have to remind myself to eat. I have finished ‘Act I’ (apart from the fine tuning) and have just started ‘Act II’. My progress was slowed down by the unexpected appearance of a new character. I had to pause to create a profile for him and think about his role in the story. He seems to be a bit of a grumpy old man! *As a kid growing up in the Australian bush I often escaped into our hayshed at the bottom of the paddock. I nestled into the hay bales out of sight where my brothers could not find me to read books. It was sanctuary where I could live in stories. That’s why I use ‘hayshed’ as a metaphor for the place where I write. Did you know? One of Australia’s quirkiest animals is named after a creature from Greek mythology known as the ‘Mother of Monsters’ who was half-woman and half-snake - because the animal was perceived to have qualities of both mammal and reptile. Just like a reptile, it lays eggs. Just like a mammal it feeds its young on milk – even though it doesn’t have any nipples. The milk oozes out of the skin in the pouch and the baby animal licks it up. That’s not all that’s quirky about this monotreme with porcupine-like spines. The echidna also has a toothless jaw, a bird-like beak, a quoll-like pouch and their babies are called puggles. And now for the quirkiest thing about the echidna; their unconventional sex life. The breeding season starts with an echidna train – a long line of around ten male echidnas waddling after one female echidna. The ‘train’ winds its way through the bush for long distances until the female is ready to mate. Then she flops down on her stomach and waits for the males to dig a circular trench known as a ‘mating rut’ around her. The largest male wins the lady. When he has pushed all his rivals out of the way, he lies down next to her, places his tail under hers and they mate. But that’s not the quirkiest thing of all about echidnas. Red alert! I’m about to ‘talk dirty’. The male echidna has a four-headed penis! It is used only for mating and never carries urine. When mating, two of the heads retract while the other two grow bigger. Both male and female echidnas are promiscuous. Male echidnas alternate which penis heads they use when mating with different partners to improve their chances of becoming a dad! (The mind boggles at what scientists must go through to find this stuff out.) Ref: www.environment.sa.gov.au The next Gazette is due out in March 2024. Don’t miss out. Subscribe now! .
0 Comments
Winner! I was thrilled that my short story Shanty Shooting won first prize in the Mystery with History category at the recent Sisters in Crime Scarlet Stiletto Awards. Honoured to receive my prize from the creators of the Phryne Fisher TV series - Fiona Eagger (l) Deb Cox (r)
There’s more to Matilda than meets the eye.Matilda is a powerful bisexual name of German origin. In Australia it is used as a girl’s name while in Germany and the Netherlands it is primarily a boy’s name. During the Middle Ages the name was popular among European royalty. There was the Empress Matilda of England (1102 – 1167), the first woman to be named as heir to the English throne, and many other royal Matildas. The name is composed of maht which means strength and hild which means battle, giving it the meaning of ‘strength in battle’. That makes Matilda appropriate and perfect for the Australian women’s national soccer team, don’t you think? The team’s name was inspired by Banjo Paterson’s song Waltzing Matilda. The Matilda in the song refers to the swagman’s bed roll or swag – an indispensable possession that went everywhere with him. The name Matilda was chosen for the team formerly known as the Female Socceroos by popular vote in 1995 in a naming competition organised by the Australian Women's Soccer Association through SBS (the Special Broadcasting Service). Prime Minister Anthony Albanese has suggested Australia should create a Public Holiday in honour of the Matildas if they win the 2023 FIFA World Cup. Some groups are against this idea fearing another public holiday will be too hard on businesses. We can resolve that issue easily. In Australia Easter has four holidays. With such a rich cultural and religious diversity in this country surely it is no longer appropriate to have a strong national focus on a Christian tradition. Let’s remove Easter Monday from the public holiday list and replace it with Matilda Monday. Too easy! Ref:letslearnslang.com A free story for you. :) Click here.
Potential customers of my books are told by Amazon that 'this title is not available for purchase'. Great! Thanks Amazon. That is the message Aussie customers get when they go to 'amazon.com.' to purchase one of my books. I realise they should be shopping at 'amazon.com.au' but for a long time Aussies had to purchase through 'amazon.com'. Old habits die hard and sometimes Aussies will stick to the well worn path that takes them to 'amazon.com'. Most people see the first sentence and believe it. They believe my book is not available for purchase. Some of them have contacted me about it and I am able to explain and redirect them. However, many won't contact me. They'll simply buy something else. Thanks very much Amazon. Even if they click on 'manage content and devices' they are not directed to the product page for my books on 'amazon.com.au'. (This issue will be affecting all Aussie authors, and perhaps all authors in countries other than USA.) I contacted the Amazon help team (who are unfailingly courteous and strive to find a solution). The answer was 'At the moment we do not have a solution for this...' That had me right gobsmacked! All they have to do is change the wording in that first misleading sentence to something like 'this title is available for purchase at your local Amazon marketplace' or better wording than that. The thing is the customer should know the title IS available. The team member I communicated with promised to forward my feedback 'to the relevant team to consider your input as we plan further improvements'. I'm still waiting. Thanks a lot Amazon - I need every sale I can get, you know. Check out our latest Youtube Podcast: In Melbourne Today with JB Rowley
A 5 minute chat with Melbourne writer JB Rowley talking about Queen Elizabeth's first visit to Melbourne, the Melbourne Writers' Festival, the Elephant and the Wheelbarrow, JB's hayshed and drinking pomegrappa! JB Rowley is the author of #1 Amazon best sellers 'Whisper My Secret' and 'Mother of Ten' who also writes murder mysteries under the pen name Brigid George. Join Brigid's team here and grab a FREE gift! “Gracie Chamberlain claims she didn’t notice her boss’s dead body.”
Dusty looked at her companion with raised eyebrows. They were breakfasting on the top floor balcony of Villa Depaul, a luxury chateau in a five-hectare landscaped park. The Villa, with a façade inspired by French Provincial architecture, sat graciously amid manicured green lawns, ancient trees, and well-tended floral beds. A faint coffee aroma emanated from two cups on the Parisian style bistro table where the pair was sitting. The coffee was part of the breakfast delivered by one of the excellent cafés that lined the main street. “That’s where it happened.” Dusty pointed toward the eastern side of the park. From where they sat, she and her research assistant had a clear view of Albert Park’s St Vincent Place precinct, a nineteenth century residential development known as millionaire’s row. In a leafy street amid a line of grand terraces facing the gardens stood the white double-storey Victorian terrace where Ralph Mason had been killed. “Gracie’s office was on the ground floor. She worked there every day as usual while his cadaver lay in an upstairs bedroom. Can you imagine that?” “Sounds macabre.” Had anyone been within earshot they would have detected the thirty-six-year-old’s Irish accent. “Ralph Mason was a chef, right?” Shortly after Sean O’Kelly arrived in Australia five years earlier, Dusty signed him up after learning of his IT qualifications. The generous salary package with retainer, which allowed him to continue his travels around Australia when not working on a case, was tempting enough for him to accept immediately. “Not just any chef.” Dusty scooped froth from her cappuccino with her finger and smeared it over the tip of a fresh strawberry. The fruit had accompanied her smashed avocado on toast. “He was one of Australia’s most popular celebrity chefs. Better known as Rafe.” She slipped the strawberry into her mouth. PRE ORDER NOW ON AMAZON! Her assistant, a hearty eater despite his lean frame, was in the process of devouring a Farmer’s Omelette which included fried rashers of bacon, roast halved tomatoes and cooked spinach served on slices of sourdough toast. “Never heard of him. Myself and I are not fans of cooking shows.” Ignoring Sean’s creative use of pronouns, Dusty pounced on his description of Rafe’s television programme. “Cooking show? Wash your mouth out Sean O’Kelly. Our murder victim would not be pleased to hear you referring to La Cuisine Rafe that way. He insisted on calling it a culinary programme. If anyone had the temerity to refer to it as a cooking show, they would suffer his caustic tongue.” “Pardon me.” Sean looked suitably chastened although his blue eyes revealed his amusement. Dusty grinned. “His programme was aimed at educating home cooks in the art of French cuisine by demonstrating the simple dishes, not the complicated ones.” “Smart.” “Yep. It was one of the reasons La Cuisine Rafe was so popular. The dishes were authentic but easy enough for the audience to reproduce in their own kitchens.” Dusty jerked her head toward the back of the Villa. “He harvested fresh herbs and vegetables for his show from the food garden at the rear of this place. Rafe’s mantra was ‘fresh for success’.” Sean pointed up at a flock of rainbow lorikeets flying toward the back of the Villa. “Looks like they’re after breakfast. I assume there are fruit trees in the food garden.” “Shade and water might be their priority today.” Dusty checked the weather on her phone. “We’re expecting a top of 36 degrees.” She was appropriately dressed for the heat in a sleeveless olive-green shift, her wild auburn hair swept up into a topknot leaving several untamed tendrils wisping around her face. “Right.” Sean used a serviette to dab at the moisture on his brow. “From what you tell me, Rafe Mason’s killer has been apprehended. The secretary who went to work every day as usual while her boss’s body lay a-mouldering in his bed upstairs has been convicted of his murder. Correct?” “Correct.” A slow smile spread across Dusty’s face. “So why are we here?” Sean acknowledged the accuracy of her mind reading with a tilt of his head. “Because the person who invited us to this ritzy mansion to investigate Rafe’s murder is an executive of the AusBoss Network called Brian Chamberlain.” Dusty paused to sip her cappuccino. “Husband of the secretary?” “Father.” Sean reached for a slice of toast as he considered this. “He doesn’t believe his daughter killed her boss?” “Exactly!” “Right. We’re here to prove Gracie Chamberlain is innocent of the murder of Rafe Mason?” “No.” Dusty shook her head emphatically. “Brian Chamberlain wants me to prove his daughter is innocent, but I’ve made it clear to him I’m after the truth, whatever it may be. He’s accepted that.” “Which means he has complete faith in his daughter. Otherwise, he wouldn’t let a renowned cold case investigator take charge.” Sean was having a gentle dig at Dusty’s lack of modesty when it came to her extraordinary ability to solve cold cases. If Dusty was aware he’d been teasing her, she gave no sign. “Exactly.” She placed another strawberry into her mouth. “Right. The police must have had good reason to think she did it.” He pushed his empty plate away with a satisfied pat on his stomach. A faint tang of omelette lingered in the air. DOWNLOAD AND REVIEW AT NET GALLEY Dusty nodded. “They didn’t find her story credible. Gracie told them she had absolutely no idea her boss’s corpse was in his bedroom during the four days she went about her work as usual. The body must have already started decomposition by the time she arrived for work on Monday; he’d been dead for forty-eight hours by then. Yet Gracie reported for work each day, let herself in the front door, made her way along the hall past the two front rooms and through the kitchen to her workspace. On the way, she also passed the staircase leading upstairs.” Sean O’Kelly wrinkled his nose. “She must have caught a whiff of the decomposing remains of her boss wafting down the stairs.” “Apparently not. And she stayed in the house all day without realising something was not right. The police didn’t believe she could have spent four days on the property without detecting the unsweet fragrance of decomposition.” “Didn’t she even notice her boss was missing?” Dusty acknowledged the irony in his tone with a grin. “The police wondered about that too. But Rafe was on a break from filming. Gracie claimed she thought he’d met someone and decided to stay at their place for a few days; something he’d done before.” “Right.” Sean pulled the pot of marmalade closer. He spread a spoonful of the sticky orange jam on a slice of toast. “He wasn’t a married man then.” Dusty gave him a knowing look. “Definitely not married.” “Right. What is the case against the secretary? Just the fact that she failed to notice her boss’s cadaver was upstairs while she was working downstairs?” “Nope! Much more than that.” Almost fifteen months had passed since the rotting corpse of Ralph Mason had been discovered in the upstairs bedroom of his Victorian terrace. The third day of Melbourne’s annual Moomba Festival was in full swing along the banks of the Yarra River on this cloudy autumn morning in 2019. Flashing lights and thumping music marked the festival atmosphere. Adventurous people, strapped into seats in the Sky Flyer, were being rotated around a gigantic tower, thirty-five metres above the ground. Others sought their thrills on the giant ferris wheel, spinning in cages against a backdrop of palm trees. Family groups swarmed past game stalls festooned with soft toys under brightly striped canopies. In the crowd, absorbing everything around her with eyes the colour of spring green clover was a petite young woman wearing a pair of patterned yellow leggings teamed with a white T-shirt and gold sandals. She paused from time to time to examine prizes on display or items for sale. The thirty-five-year-old was on her way to rendezvous with a crew of volunteers preparing a special machine for her. Weaving in and out of the crowd, she continued toward the river. Rows of spruikers bellowed encouragement to passers-by. From food stalls came the tempting aromas of steaming sausages, burgers and piping-hot potato chips. Resisting all temptation, she continued on toward the set-up point for a favourite Moomba event. This year she would have an entry in the popular fund-raising contest. Through a donation page on social media, she had already accumulated $10,000.00 for her chosen cause. Today was to be the culmination of her money raising efforts – the pièce de résistance. PRE ORDER NOW ON AMAZON! The approaching melodic jangle of trimbles reminded her of parades in her hometown of Claigan when members of the Salvation Army paraded along the main street beating their trimbles with the heels of their hands. As the sound drew near, she saw the source was a trio of young women wearing full bodysuits in vibrant pink. Orange ribbons flowed out from their trimbles when they brought them down in a full arc. Following the pink women was an eight-foot-tall stilt walker, a breath-taking human replica of a butterfly. A long purple skirt covered her stilts, aqua silk wings rippled from her arms. She smiled down on the diminutive redhead craning her neck to admire the glittering headdress of purple feathers and shimmering beads. Clowns, jugglers, and buskers entertained her on the way to her destination. She had almost arrived when her attention was caught by a small boy holding a stick adorned with a head of fluffy fairy floss. He laughed as the candy caught on his tongue. Her eyes fixed on the pink floss in a vacant stare. The noise and bustle of the festival faded into the background. A long-forgotten memory stirred, at first nothing more than a tantalising scintilla of recollection appearing as a distant hazy image. As the image gathered momentum to cover the span of years, it took on definition. A stick of pink fairy floss in a child’s hand. A smiling woman bending down at eye level with the child. Her mother! A sharp clear image of her mother encouraging her daughter to put her tongue to the fairy floss. Now she saw her own happy face. It was the day the carnival came to their small town. The excitement of being there had almost overwhelmed her that day. She had clung to her mother’s hand as they walked around the bumpy ground of the football oval from one exhibit to another. The memory that had been hidden in the attic of her mind all these years sent tendrils out to other recollections. No. She would not unlock the door to the dungeon where sad memories were imprisoned. She blinked away thoughts of the past. The small boy with the fairy floss had gone. Crowds milled around her as though she were a bollard in their path. She began to walk briskly and continued at a vigorous pace until she reached her goal. The four-person crew of engineering students that had laboured for weeks to prepare the unique vehicle she had ordered, greeted her with beaming faces and broad grins. They stepped aside to reveal their masterpiece. She brought her palms together in awe. During the construction stage, she had seen only photos and videos. The turquoise of the flying motorbike was more vibrant than it had appeared on screen. Its matching helmet and cape were both edged in white, the bold contrast highlighting the turquoise. She gave the crew an emphatic thumbs-up. Her entry would be sure to stand out from all the others. PRE-ORDER NOW ON AMAZON! DOWNLOAD AND REVIEW AT NET GALLEY. “I’ve got someone special to ride this today. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s in for yet.” Mischief gleamed in her eyes in anticipation of the reaction she expected. “I’m sure he’ll take it in his stride.” The smile that brightened her face was the smirk of someone about to throw a curveball. Her thoughts of the past now stored away; renowned cold case warrior Dusty Kent was in the mood for fun after a harrowing few days closeted in a lavish villa with a group of murder suspects. It had been a crucible-like atmosphere where tempers flared and accusations flourished. But the investigation was now finished. She couldn’t wait to see her research assistant’s face when she presented him with this surprise. Her smile faded when a poster attached to the scaffolding behind the motorbike caught her attention. Dusty stared at the billboard for National Missing Persons Week depicting a collage of faces, the faces of the missing. She knew what it was like to yearn for a long-absent loved one to return home. Her mother’s face, that much loved face she had just seen in the unbidden recollection, had once featured on a poster such as this. She too had been smiling into the camera, obviously happy and relaxed. Dusty had experienced a sharp pang to see her looking so cheerful on a poster pleading for information about her whereabouts. She had wanted that familiar face to reflect the pain and anxiety she must be feeling at being separated from her daughter. It was irrational to feel that way about a photograph taken before the tragic event, but she had needed to know her mother yearned for reunion. Instead, she had had to live with the cold silence of not knowing and years of wondering, throughout her childhood, if she had done something wrong; years of fantasising about the day her mother would walk back in the door; years of yearning to know what had happened. All that was over now, the dreams, the wondering and the living in limbo. Two years ago, Anna Kent had been confirmed dead. A victim of homicide, her body had been found buried in bushland. When Dusty was given that news, the last irrational flicker of hope had been obliterated. What had remained was a dull, aching emptiness. The tendrils began to reach out once again toward the dungeon. Unable to resist their urgent demand, she felt the door open, felt the anger that had been confined in that dark place rush out like a blast of heat from a fire. The rage her young self had directed at her mother had been intense. It swept over her after the shock, the confusion and the tears. How could her mother leave her? Why did she just suddenly go? Without saying goodbye. At first the anger simmered behind hope, the enduring hope her mother would come back. Every morning she woke up and hurried to the kitchen hoping to see her mother preparing breakfast. When school finished, she ran to the gate and looked along the road for her. As the months went by and the day of her sixth birthday drew near, her hope increased. Mum would not miss her birthday. But that day had ended in tears and a violent tantrum. The mother she thought had loved her so much did not care about her. The betrayal cut deep. She had remained angry with her mother for years. It had been an understandable reaction from a child. She knew that. She also knew her mother would understand. Yet the shame she had experienced for the animosity and resentment she had felt never left her. DOWNLOAD AND REVIEW AT NET GALLEY. Dusty Kent, you’re being maudlin. Pull yourself together. And she did. She locked the unwelcome feelings away again, took a deep breath and shook her head. As always, when her loss threatened to drag her mind into a dark place, she reflected on the way her mother would want her to live her life. Anna Kent, that beautiful lady whose red hair she inherited, had loved to laugh. Dusty put a hand up to her shoulder-length mop of wild auburn hair with a nostalgic smile. Lost in her thoughts she turned away, almost colliding with a father carrying his daughter on his shoulders. Reflected in the huge bubble she held in front of her was the child’s laughing face, misshapen as though in a distorting mirror. One thing Dusty knew was that her mother would wish her to find laughter in life. I will honour that wish today and every day, Dusty promised. The investigative journalist waved to the grinning father and daughter as they went on their way. She skipped a few paces in a sudden rush of contentment, then stopped to look around, marvelling at the overcast weather conditions. The pungent fresh tang in her nostrils suggested rain might not be far away. Only ten days earlier the city had been sweltering. Melbourne had experienced above average March temperatures following a heat wave in the last week of February. It had been in those oppressive conditions that she had begun her investigation into the fatal strangulation of Ralph Mason. ........................................................................................................................................................................................ **The Chapter #1 previously published on this blog has now become Chapter #2. Buy a print copy now on Amazon. Pre-order eBook now on Amazon! Links: Amazon.com Amazon.co.uk Amazon.com.au In Murder in Murloo, Dusty Kent investigates her first cold case in the small town of Murloo. When Sean O’Kelly, her research assistant, meets Dusty for the first time she overpowers a drunken youth who is tormenting a gentle old sheep and threatening her with a length of timber. He looks on as Dusty uses her karate skills to tackle the youth. 'In an instant, she had grabbed his wrist with one hand and flicked his hand with the other, ejecting the piece of wood from his grasp and sending it plummeting to the ground. Later when Dusty learns Sean is one of those 'unbelievably clever people who know the inside, backside and all sides of a computer', she invites him to assist her with her investigation into the murder of the young local woman, Gabby Peters. Murloo is an Aboriginal (Kurnai) word meaning ‘clay or muddy banks’. The Murloo in the book is based on Marlo, except that I have taken poetic licence with some of the geography. The route to Giuseppe’s house mentioned in Chapter 10 which ‘offered spectacular views of the sand and ocean below’ is actually the Marlo-Conran Road which ends at Cape Conran; a surfing haven with outstanding surfing beaches attracting serious surfers from around the country. Murloo Mansion is fictional. It’s actually Marlo pub that 'is situated on a bluff overlooking the Southern Ocean'. (Chapter 1). Marlo is a quiet seaside village at the mouth of the Snowy River in a region of Victoria called East Gippsland with a population of less than 500. It is largely unspoilt with excellent walking trails, and abundant wildlife such as kookaburras and lyrebirds. Anglers know they can catch the best perch and bream in Australia at Marlo – and so do the pelicans that frequent the area. The creation myth of the local Aboriginal people (Kurnai), who have occupied the area for at least 20,000 years, tells us the first man was Borun, the pelican. Even older than Aboriginal settlement are the magnificent old-growth forests forty kilometres north-east of Orbost. The township of Claigan is based on Orbost a small town fifteen minutes drive from Marlo. Most of the road runs parallel with The Snowy River. The legendary river starts on the slopes of Mount Kosciuszko in New South Wales. It crosses the border into Victoria, flows through mountains and all the way down to Orbost where it runs adjacent to the town and concludes its almost 400 km journey at Marlo where it flows into the ocean. I have taken the name Claigan from the Isle of Skye in Scotland in the same way that Orbost is named after a farm on the Isle of Skye. In the 1800s, many Scottish migrants settled in the East Gippsland area and established sheep runs. Once a year at Christmas I return to my hometown where my sister Irene still lives. Here’s a photo she took of me at the town sign last year. I hope to have Dusty Kent Mystery #6 on the shelves before I next visit Orbost. Murder on a Melbourne Tram is set in my current hometown of Melbourne. Until next time... JB & BG :) Dusty Kent Murder Mystery #6 is in progress. The plan is for it to be finished and ready for publication by the end of 2021. Murder on a Melbourne Tram: Twenty-nine-year-old Gracie Chamberlain claimed she didn’t know her boss’s dead body was decomposing in the upstairs bedroom while she went to work every day in the downstairs office. That is one reason the police arrested her. It is the hot autumn of 2019 in Melbourne when Dusty Kent starts to investigate the strangulation of celebrity chef Rafe Mason. Four suspects have been identified by Gracie’s wealthy father who believes his daughter is innocent of the murder. Dusty must decide if one of them is the killer. Her task is made difficult when it is established that each of the suspects has an alibi for the night of the murder. Dusty’s assistant suggests the police got it right in arresting Gracie Chamberlain. However, Dusty is not so sure. Secrets unravel, tempers flare and fear causes suspects to attempt to flee. ........................................................................................................................................................................................ The last time I predicted the publication of one of my books I was ambushed by a pandemic! In the end Tooting Moon was not published until November 2020. The Covid 19 pandemic also impacted on Murder on a Melbourne Tram in that it more or less dictated the setting. Due to travel restrictions, lockdowns and uncertainty, Team Dusty was unable to travel to research a setting outside of Melbourne. Therefore, I decided to set the book in Albert Park where I live. I'm glad I did; I've thoroughly enjoyed rediscovering my own village. For those of you who watch the Formula 1, this is where the F1 Australia Grand Prix is held - the circuit goes around the beautiful Albert Park Lake. In March 2020 the F1 was dramatically cancelled at the last moment. This year it was optimistically rescheduled for November, but a few days ago the Australian Grand Prix Corporation in conjunction with the Victorian Government announced the Grand Prix has been cancelled ‘due to restrictions and logistical challenges relating to the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic’. The silver lining for me is that I don't have to endure the scaffolding and other constructions that mar the beauty of the area and diminish the enjoyment of my weekly early morning walk around the lake. The picture on the right gives you some idea of the sort of thing I see on my walk around Albert Park Lake. The lake, which is named after Queen Victoria's consort Prince Albert, was once swamp land and was a meeting place for the local Wurrundjeri tribe. Today the lake and surrounding area is a public parkland home to yacht clubs, rowing clubs, cafes, a sporting stadium and more. The walking track goes all around the lake and covers a distance of 4.8 kilometres. Albert Park Lake is prolific with bird life, especially the beautiful black swans that sometimes like to join picnickers on the lawns. Not only do I have the lake on my doorstep but the beach is also a short distance away. I can walk along the beach down to St Kilda, another popular Melbourne suburb where visitors flock to Luna Park. I can also walk (or take a tram) to the extraordinary Melbourne Botanic Gardens.
After all that walking I can sit down at one of the many cafes in Albert Park, most of which offer outdoor dining, and enjoy a good cappuccino. Until next time... JB & BG Anyone expecting a thriller or a suspense novel when they read a Dusty Kent Murder Mystery will be disappointed. It’s a shame that mystery, thriller and suspense are grouped together by Amazon and other online booksellers. Furthermore, there’s no whodunit sub category! All of that can lead to confusion for readers who don’t understand a mystery novel has many variations. The majority of the readers of the Dusty Kent Murder Mystery series enjoy the books and leave positive reviews. That tells me most readers ‘get’ the books. They understand the whodunit genre. Today I’d like to highlight three Amazon reviews of Murder in Murloo. Thank you to BrainybirdAA from the United Kingdom, Bev from Canada, and KylieD: Top 100 Reviewer from Australia. Some readers rate the books with their preferred number of stars without leaving comments. That is also much appreciated. Readers don’t always have time to compose reviews.
Some readers read the books without offering public feedback. I appreciate them very much, too. To all my readers and supporters: Thank you. xxx JB aka Brigid George For your free gift from Brigid George CLICK HERE! |
AuthorBrigid George is the pen name for JB Rowley. Brigid George writes murder mysteries like Murder in Murloo. JB Rowley writes other books like Whisper My Secret. Archives
December 2023
Categories
All
|