Gary Taaffe's Blog, page 10

Book 7's New Title

Introducing book 7's ghastly new title and blurb, all due for release in about 2 weeks.

 
BOWELS OF HELL
 
Entombed and doomed to digestion down the bowels of hell itself, Billy and Amber must escape or die.

The orphans, abandoned again, must set aside their differences and put into practice what Billy has taught them. Or starve.

And is the honeymoon over already? Can the Bullies save their relationship with Mel?

Book 7 Title

Settled on a title for book 7 and committed to it. Spent two whole days developing artwork based on it for the launch. And then in an odd moment doing something completely different I thought, nah, boring. It was TOTEM. It’s relevant to the story and the series, but nah, boring. Not intriguing enough. Not enough to make you want to buy the book to see what the story’s all about.  

So it was back to the drawing board. I came up with five alternatives with one an absolute stand-out. It’s rough and raw and totally in your face. I love it. Can’t wait to show it to you. Two weeks at the most I reckon so stay tuned.

Book 7 is Finally off to the Editors!

Since finishing writing it(20th August), it’s spent 15 working days(nearly 3 weeks) in review and re-writes. That’s the stage where my wife, Karin, reads over it. She does a full read to get a feel for the story. We discuss anything lacking and I re-write those sections. During all this I’m re-reading and tidying up here and there. It’s amazing what I find. Paragraphs that waffle, or don’t get to the point or even make a point very well, stand out at this stage. I enjoy re-writing them so they read so much better.

I print another copy and Karin reads again, this time at a much slower pace, checking spelling, colloquialisms, grammar and punctuation. I’m doing all the same again myself.

By this stage and after an initial read, Karin’s seeing things she didn’t see before. Bits where I’ve set up the story or where I haven’t. We discover opportunities for characterisation and plot. All this adds a richness and a depth to the story. It draws out emotions, the good the bad and the ugly.

Time to send out copies for my editors. I’ve got four. You read that right, four! They’re all different and all bring something new to the table. One is amazing with grammar and punctuation. Another sees the big picture with plot and characterisation. Another writes a bit of a review on each chapter giving me amazingly important feedback. Another picks up odd things the others missed. Some give me zero feedback, others flood me with it. They’re all incredibly important to the success of this series and I couldn’t possibly send out the story without them. They’re the difference between a 4 star and a 5 star review. Between amateur hour and professional.

Next is formatting preparation(internal and external), writing the back cover blurb, cast of characters and the glossary. I’ll break some of that down for you over the next couple of weeks to give you an idea of what is involved. By then the editing will be back and it will be back to re-writes again, before final formatting and uploading to eBook sellers, printers and reviewers ...

Book 7 is Finally off to the Editors!

Since finishing writing book 7(20th August), it’s spent 15 working days(nearly 3 weeks) in review and re-writes. That’s the stage where my wife, Karin, reads over it. She does a full read to get a feel for the story. We discuss anything lacking and I re-write those sections. During all this I’m re-reading and tidying up here and there. It’s amazing what I find. Paragraphs that waffle, or don’t get to the point or even make a point very well, stand out at this stage. I enjoy re-writing them so they read so much better. I print another copy and Karin reads again, this time at a much slower pace, checking spelling, colloquialisms, grammar and punctuation. I’m doing all the same again myself. By this stage and after an initial read, Karin’s seeing things she didn’t see before. Bits where I’ve set up the story or where I haven’t. We discover opportunities for characterisation and plot. All this adds a richness and a depth to the story. It draws out emotions, the good the bad and the ugly. Time to send out copies for my editors. I’ve got four. You read that right, four! They’re all different and all bring something new to the table. One is amazing with grammar and punctuation. Another sees the big picture with plot and characterisation. Another writes a bit of a review on each chapter giving me amazingly important feedback. Another picks up odd things the others missed. Some give me zero feedback, others flood me with it. They’re all incredibly important to the success of this series and I couldn’t possibly send out the story without them. They’re the difference between a 4 star and a 5 star review. Between amateur hour and professional. Next is formatting preparation(internal and external), writing the back cover blurb, cast of characters and the glossary. I’ll break some of that down for you over the next couple of weeks to give you an idea of what is involved. By then the editing will be back and it will be back to re-writes again, before final formatting and uploading to eBook sellers, printers and reviewers ...  

 

Chapter 23 "YA BLOODY, IDIOT!"

[image error] Billy woke to the pups racing out of the overhang, kicking up sand and barking excitedly. They headed out along the path to the right so Billy figured they were going to the beach. He didn’t blame them, it was another stinking hot day. He’d join them later; a sleep–in seemed the better option at the moment.

He closed his eyes and thought about what he’d seen from the lookout above the cave. The brown snake’s head was prominent — the Sydney Tower, as if it was watching over all the whitefellas in the city, like the white ants in a nest. He drifted off to sleep and was soon enjoying a dream about a massive midden of seashells on the water’s edge. And beyond that, a beautiful park with a nice campsite just for him.

Suddenly his mother’s face replaced the face of the snake and said,

“NOW, BILLY. GO NOW!”

He woke with a start and began collecting his things in a panic. The pups! He remembered they were at the beach so he stood at the entrance and whistled loud, sure they’d hear even from down there. He hoped they’d hurry. He whistled again, desperate to go. Then he struggled to get his pants on, he still wasn’t used to them.

A minute later he was pacing back and forth, ready to go. Whistling and pacing. Pacing and whistling. He considered just going, figuring the pups would follow his scent and catch up. But what if they didn’t? He couldn’t leave without his little buddies.

“Come on! Where are yez?”

He followed the path around the corner and got the fright of his life as they all jumped out at him. They’d been hiding there the whole time! He swore he could hear them laughing. They were making little sniggering type sounds as they pranced around congratulating each other with a silly grin and a playful nudge.

“Come on. We gotta go!” he grumbled.

He was already carrying his bag and spears so he bolted past the cave and headed down the path. The pups ran ahead of him, barking their triumph the whole way.

Not far from the cave was a dirt road heading south towards the city, so it wasn’t long before he burst from the bush and maintained a steady trot. The pups kept pace, looking at him occasionally, their tongues lolling out with cheeky grins creasing the corners of their mouths. He avoided looking at them, knowing it would only set them off barking again and congratulating each other.

Just as he reached a bend in the road, the old grey ute from the tip came tearing around the corner billowing a cloud of dust big enough to block out the sun. The pups scattered in a terrified panic but Larry slipped and lost his footing. Fortunately he was out of the driver’s path but then the mongrel swerved hard to run him down. The last thing Billy saw was Larry on his back, legs flailing desperately as he tried to find his feet with the ute running right over the top of him. Billy heard a sickening thud and feared the worst. Then he saw Larry’s tiny white body snowballing end over end out the back of the ute before landing heavily in a heap.

Billy and the pups raced to him and just as they arrived, they heard the screech of tyres. The ute was sliding sideways across the road with the old man desperately trying to correct its path. The front wheel caught in a pothole and flipped the freshly restored ute over and over. It came to a sudden stop, right side up in a cloud of broken glass and roadside dust.

Larry scrambled to his feet in a panic and shot a bewildered look up at Billy. Then he shook himself off and growled menacingly at the dishevelled old man stumbling from his car. Fresh blood oozed from his nose, his long grey hair glued to his face, the whites of his eyes stared wide–eyed at Billy and the pups who were starring back at him in disbelief.

Larry shook himself off again, growled and then charged straight at him, with Curly and Moe right behind.

“YA BLOODY, IDIOT,” Billy yelled as he unconsciously grabbed a spear, notched it in his woomera and hurled it.

The old man scrambled to get back into his car, slamming the door shut just as Billy’s fishing spear penetrated it with a loud thud. He screamed in pain as the prongs pierced his thigh and screamed again as the pups launched themselves at his drivers side window.

The starter motor whined over and over trying to fire up the engine, but it was drowned out by the screams of the driver — Larry, Curly and Moe had used the spear as a launching pad to jump up onto the roof. Just as they were about to hurl themselves through the broken windscreen, the old man got the car started and sped off in a metal crunching screech that threw the pups off the roof into another cloud of dust.

Curly and Moe were shaking themselves off when Billy got to them but Larry was nowhere to be seen. Billy stared hard at the ute barrelling down the long straight, dust billowing up behind it, trying to see any sign of Larry at all. The breeze slowly blew the cloud over the side of the road, revealing flashes of Larry’s little white body through the dust haze, sprinting like the devil after the mongrel who still had Billy’s spear sticking out the side of his car door.

Billy whistled for him to come back but he kept going. He whistled again and again until finally, Larry gave up the chase. He stomped around the middle of the road, barking in utter frustration until he limped back, grumbling to himself the whole way.

“That old fella sure don’t like you!” Billy said with a gentle pat. “What did you do to him?” Larry swore, or at least that’s what Billy figured he was doing as he continued to grumble and growl.

He had a gash in his rump. It wasn’t deep but it was the bruising that worried Billy — it was turning purple already. Billy carried him to what he figured was the same creek and tried to make him sit in the water, but Larry was far too fired–up to sit still. Billy held him under the armpits with his rump dangling in the water. That didn’t last long either with Larry squirming to be freed.

“Well, if you can’t sit still, we might as well make tracks before you stiffen–up and stop.” Billy grabbed his last spear and headed off, complaining to himself for not being more careful about which spear he’d notched into his woomera — fishing spears were hard to make too.

Larry limped along, growling under his breath and barking sporadically.



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All my books are available here:www.BunyaPublishing.com

Chapter 22 STOMP

[image error] There was only one way to deal with a massive meal and that was to sleep it off. It didn’t last long as carolling magpies and the freedom of a clear blue sky beckoned. The sun glistened through rain drops hanging from a million different leaves, a wonderland of beauty too inviting to miss.

The pups lolled down the path, still sleepy, unsure if it really was the warmth of the sun seeping into their bones. A young magpie ruffled its feathers on a tree branch nearby and spread its wings, hanging itself out to dry with closed eyes luxuriating in the sunshine. The feel of water droplets falling upon the pup’s faces after brushing past the long grass, enlivened them with playful energy. By the time they reached the bottom they were bumping each other, nipping at their tails and stirring up trouble for a chase. They ran in and under and over fallen trees. Jumping from rock to rock and splashing through muddy puddles.

Finally, the Bogon moths had emerged, a good sign of more sunshine to come, Billy reasoned. They filled the air, enticing the pups to jump at them and bark loudly.

Billy was laughing at their antics when Larry suddenly bounced off his back. He’d bent over to pick some blackberries when Larry jumped from a rock to Billy to the trunk of a fallen tree. Billy stood up in surprise, which was unfortunate for Moe because he was right behind Larry. He slammed into Billy’s back and dropped to the ground. Billy picked him up, put him back on the rock and encouraged him to try again. He wasn’t keen but with Larry barking at him from the tree trunk, he just couldn’t resist. Larry then led the way around for another go.

Life was like this for the next week while Billy waited for word from his mum, playing with the pups and getting to know them better, teaching them new tricks and honing their hunting skills. All he really wanted to do was get on with his Walkabout and explore the world of the whitefellas. He wanted a closer look at the noisy aeroplanes flying in and out of the city, to check out the skyscrapers dominating the skyline and to meet some more people. Yet here he was still stuck in the bush. He’d been on constant look–out for a sign, any sign, but if there was one thing he knew for certain, he needed to wait. He didn’t think he could handle another one of his mum’s painful lessons.

Tug–of–war was another of the pup’s favourite games. They’d pick up a stick and take off with it, challenging the others to take it from them. Moe always won, until Larry and Curly got together. Billy got in on the action too and pretended to let all three of them drag him along the ground. He had no idea of the benefits of encouraging them to do this until he woke one morning to the sounds of them grunting and groaning in exertion. They’d killed a large Swamp wallaby and were dragging it into the cave for him to cook.

They often went off by themselves to hunt, bringing back all manner of things to share with him. He redid their stripes regularly to increase their success, and at the same time, helping him figure out who was who. They were just the best little buddies to have around.

He often heard them puffing and panting up the trail long before they ever got to the top so he’d lay in wait, ready to scare them as they came past. They thought it was great fun and started doing the same back to Billy, which was unfortunate because he was horribly outnumbered and they had no end of energy. They leapt from behind rocks, out of tree branches and on top of him at night.

One of their daily excursions was to Refuge Bay — a secluded little beach not far from the cave. If Billy timed it right, as the tide receded, the beach was full of Soldier crabs that the pups loved to run down and stomp on. Billy noticed seagulls following their crab crushing escapades for a free feed so he held Larry back one day to hide in ambush behind a rock. Larry caught on straight away and launched like lightning when one came close enough. He had his first bird and strutted around all afternoon with it in his mouth, making Curly and Moe totally jealous.

Fish drove the pups nuts with a constant stream of mullet swimming along the water’s edge just out of reach. They pawed at the water, charged in from the beach and eventually started diving in from the rocks. But they were never able to master a decent dive with belly flops being the best they could do. Billy was more successful, using his fishing twine and hooks that he kept tied around his upper arms. He didn’t get to eat any of them though because the pups kept savaging his fish.

Cobar told him how he used to catch fish in a tide pool when he was young, making Billy wonder if he could set one up here. He’d been watching the tide, rising and falling. It was really intriguing to him as there were no tides in the Wollemi’s rivers. They flooded but nothing as regular as a tide. He remembered something about Cobar telling him how when the Rainbow Serpent breathed in, the tide came in, and when it breathed out, the tide went out. That’s how everyone knew that all was well with the Rainbow Serpent. It was enough of an explanation for Billy when he was little, but now that he was a man on his Walkabout, he wanted a better explanation.

He gathered rocks while he thought about it, lining them up along the water’s edge and building a small wall that stopped just below his knee. He fashioned the wall into a U shape, with the bottom of the U closest to the water. The side of the rocks with all the little barnacles and tube worms and things he faced in, so when the tide came in, it covered the pool and attracted the fish to peck at the rocks and hide behind them. When the tide went out, they were trapped in the pool and easy prey for the pups. And great entertainment for Billy — watching the pups scramble about trying to catch them in the shallows.

In the meantime, Billy went back to fishing off the rocks. He could have used his four–pronged fishing spear but he loved fishing with a line. And this time, he got to wrap his catch in seaweed and paperbark and cook it over a small fire on the beach.

Life wasn’t all a barrel of laughs with three lively little pups though — he woke one morning to find they’d knocked his heavily barbed spear into the fire. He was far from impressed as it had taken him a week to carve the special hardwood barbs. It wasn’t a total loss however as the main shaft still remained intact. He sharpened the end to a point and hardened it in the fire.

They also chewed on his poncho whenever the mood took them. He’d put it out of reach but now that they were such good climbers, there was nowhere safe. He decided to do the opposite and leave it right under their noses, and then rouse on them anytime they so much as licked it. Larry and Moe were sitting in a huddle looking mischievous one afternoon so Billy threw his bag over so it landed right under their noses. Larry huffed out a knowing sigh, picked it up and dumped it right back in Billy’s lap, on top of Curly’s head.



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Please "Like" my Facebook page and "Share" these chapters with your friends to help me spread the word. Gary Taaffe (author page) https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Gary-Taaffe/212091488802148?fref=ts
All my books are available here:www.BunyaPublishing.com

Chapter 21 THE SHUDDER OF THE DEAD

[image error] Billy opened his eyes on the third morning to judge how far into the day he was. He could have been mistaken for thinking that the sun had barely risen with heavy rain clouds still dominating the sky. He’d been dozing on and off for hours, far too tired to get up. It was only then that he realised that something was very wrong.

He’d wriggled deep into the sand while snuggling the pups but he still couldn’t get warm. Normally he’d just get up, have a leak, get the fire going and lay back down to sleep some more. Not this morning, he couldn’t move, didn’t have the energy to move. The pups were the same, their bodies rolling limp instead of being alert.

Starvation was setting in.

It frustrated him. The pups were looking great yesterday — active and clowning around — over their heat stroke. Now they were getting sick again and it was all his fault. He knew he was being unreasonably hard on himself but he also knew that his anger would energise him into action. He dragged himself up to light the fire, leaving the pups to roll into the centre of the pit.

What remained of the fire was just a large ring of ash with a barely visible spiral of smoke rising from its centre. He blew away the ash to locate the smouldering coal. It glowed at him like a beacon of hope. But it was tiny, much smaller than the coal he’d formed to start the fire in the first place.

He’d already prepared a small pile of tinder the night before which he carefully lay over the coal and blew, ever so gently. It did nothing — the tinder had become damp in the night air. He packed the tinder a little tighter and blew some more. It started to smoke, telling him that the heat was fighting its way through the moisture. Finally, a flame burst into life.

Now it was time to call upon his ancestors for help — today, he would hunt.

He rummaged through the leather pouches in his shoulder bag until he found the one with the brightest red fur. It contained his red ochre. He broke off a chunk and ground it to dust on python rock using his small stone with the kangaroo painted upon it. It made him wonder what Mallee and Pindaari were doing during the storm. Mallee was probably working out ways of getting Pindaari back for tricking him into sitting on a bull ant nest. And Pindaari was probably worrying about what Mallee was going to do to get him back. He wished he could show them his cool new hunting dogs. He imagined all the fun they’d have, playing with the pups and patting them.

He added a little water to the powder to grind it into a paste and painted his totem upon his body, a red line down his thigh portraying the Red kangaroo’s thigh bone, his shin bone, arms and body. Then he selected the pouch made of white fur from under the roo’s chin, it contained white clay. He dabbed his four fingers into the paint he made and ran streaks through his hair, across his face and over his whole body. He’d be ghosted into the Ghost gum trees that dominated the forest below the overhang. All the while he sang quietly to himself in his native tongue, as he always did while preparing for a ceremony.

The pups watched him curiously the whole time, with the final result unsettling them slightly. He wondered what their reaction would have been if he’d suddenly appeared with his camouflage already painted on.

They needed camouflaging too. He couldn’t stalk prey with three balls of snow slinking through the undergrowth, trying not to be seen but standing out like the proverbial. It had him scratching his head for a while, wondering how on earth he could possibly camouflage them. Then he realised in a flash of the obvious that he was black and they were white! He’d painted white stripes on his body so why not paint black stripes on their bodies. He scrounged around for a piece of cold charcoal from last night’s fire and gave it a go, and then rolled around laughing his head off at the result. They thought it was funny too, checking each other out and racing around the cave excitedly.

It was time to get serious. Billy stoked the fire, gathered his clapsticks and began an ancient hunting song that reverberated off the cave walls.

The pups barked uncertainly at first, not sure what Billy was doing as he danced around the fire, imitating his prey, stalking his prey and then stabbing it with his spear. It began to look like a whole lot of fun so they joined in, digging little holes, spraying sand everywhere and barking triumphantly.

Billy danced himself into a trance and then sat by the fire, chanting his hunting songs and inviting his ancestors to join him on the hunt. Herding his prey towards him, lulling it into a false sense of security and guiding his spear. The pups joined in the song, a quartet of sorts, howling out of harmony.

The storm grew in intensity. Bone–shaking thunder exploded all around them with gusts of wind sweeping torrents of rain into the cave, lashing at the fire and sizzling it to steam. Billy increased his intensity, singing even louder, his voice penetrating the storm. The pups now hiding behind him and howling in fear.

Time disappeared as Billy’s melodious drones slipped him into a meditative state. He found himself on the hunt, stalking through the forest, camouflaged, invisible. His eyes searching with wind swirling all around him, one second blowing in his face, the next on his back. It didn’t matter, the heavy downpour would carry his scent to the ground and drown it anyway. He followed a game trail — muddy, soft and silent underfoot, the leave’s dry crackle long since gone. His spear led the way, pushing branches aside while he slipped quietly by.

A Paddymelon wallaby buck stood staring into the haze, shivering in the middle of the trail and shaking off another load of cold water from his rain–drenched coat. A nearby branch creaked and cracked and crashed to the ground, shattering the last of his frayed nerves. He hung his head in despair, exhausted after too many days on high alert. His eyelids drooped as he listened to the wind howling around his ears, trying to block out all the terrifying noises of the bush that kept shaking him to the core. He heard something nearby and had to look, but his eyes saw nothing. The hunter was no more than ten metres away when the spear left his hand. Paddy didn’t even know what was happening as the spear punctured his heart and he started to die. Then his nightmare ended.

Suddenly lightening struck a tall tree in the bush below the cave. It wrenched Billy from his dream just in time to see the bolt blast a long–dead branch from the top of a tree. It whirled high into the air, spinning spectacularly with smoke and sparks trailing it like the tail of a dragon.

The pups yelped and launched themselves into Billy’s lap where they whimpered from the sting of adrenaline surging through their bodies.

Then everything went quiet. The wind dropped and the rain stopped while Billy watched in awe of the branch twirling through the air. It started down, finding its centre and spearing like a javelin. He followed it through the canopy and watched as it stopped gracefully, sinking into the sodden soil behind a patch of scrub. Billy scrutinised it, trying not to doubt his ancestors. And then it happened, the shudder of the dead vibrated through the end of the spear. Billy smiled with pride and quietly thanked his ancestors.

“Let’s eat!” he said to the pups while leaping to his feet and geeing them up. “Come on, time for hunting lesson.”

“Rrar, rrar, rrar,” they barked excitedly.

He bolted straight out of the overhang and down the path, leaving all his weapons behind. The pups were right behind him, barking enthusiastically. When he got to the bottom he settled them down and then snuck through the scrub. They caught on quickly, keeping close and treading lightly.

Billy could see the top of the spear poking out above a couple of moss–covered granite boulders. He froze, wanting to see what the pups would do. They followed his lead and stopped too. Then he cautiously stepped around a bend in the trail that revealed Paddy, speared through the spine, dead instantly and compassionately. He was pinned where he stood with his head bowed, as if he was still nibbling on a blade of grass.

Billy felt powerful.

Supernatural.

He’d never harnessed the power of his ancestors to such an effect before.

“Hunt,” he whispered to the pups.

Larry tilted his head and then caught a whiff of the wallaby on the air.

“Hunt,” Billy said again.

He looked at Billy in surprise, understanding instantly.

Curly and Moe must have smelt it too because they also went into hunting mode. They fanned out, noses to the ground while sneaking silently through the long grass.

Billy noticed that it was going to be Larry who would see the wallaby first so he watched him carefully to see how he’d react. Larry froze solid, and then to Billy’s delight, Curly and Moe also froze. Billy was ecstatic, they were already excellent hunting dogs!

Larry burst from the undergrowth and seized the wallaby by the throat. Moe was right behind him, sinking his teeth deep into the wallaby’s tail and using his weight to hold it down. Curly then latched onto its muzzle, preventing it from biting and helping Larry suffocate it.

Billy tried not to laugh as he watched them look to one another, wondering why their prey wasn’t putting up a fight at all. Suddenly they let go and tore into its belly, ripping at the skin, desperate to get at its insides. Billy was impressed again — they knew exactly where to go. He just couldn’t understand why anyone would want to get rid of such good little hunting dogs.

Larry and Moe pulled together as the belly skin started to tear. Curly was straight in, biting out chunks of the intestines. Then Larry and Moe did the same, tug–of–warring over large pieces to tear them apart.

“Good tucker hey, fellas?”

Larry looked at Billy and then dived into the cavity, his head disappearing and reappearing a moment later with the whole liver hanging from his mouth. He proudly trotted over to Billy and dropped it at his feet. It was then that Billy truly understood how intelligent these little dogs were. That was exactly what he would have done for Cobar — given him one of the most nutritious pieces of the beast. Billy gave him a pat and scoffed it down hungrily.

Curly saw what Larry had done so he raced over to give Billy the slobbery piece of intestine that he’d been chewing on. Moe tried to do the same thing but his bit was still attached, making him struggle as it unfurled from the wallaby’s belly.

Billy thanked them, pretended to eat it and then flicked it into the bush — liver was one thing but he’d never been able to stomach raw intestines. He fished the kidneys out of the cavity instead and tried not to think about how much better they’d be over the coals — they had a thick layer of tasty yellow fat that oozed goodness and begged to be heated and melted. He cut out and discarded the wallaby’s stomach, bladder and what remained of its bowels; waited while the pups finished gorging themselves and then hoisted Paddy onto his shoulder to carry him back to camp.

The fire was down to just coals so he took advantage of the break in the weather to gather some more wood. The pups helped, competing with each other to see who could carry the biggest stick, their full bellies rocking from side to side as they lumbered up the path.

When the pups arrived, they were so overjoyed to see the wallaby in the cave that they rolled all over him, covering themselves in his scent and gnawing on his legs. Curly took it a step farther and climbed right inside the body cavity. He stuck his head out as if he’d just found the best kennel in the whole wide world.

Billy stoked the fire and without a second thought, threw Paddy into the flames. The pups didn’t like that at all — not being able to chew on their prize. They barked and whimpered and howled in distress. As soon as the fur was burnt off, Billy dragged the carcass off the flames and laughed at the pups surprised expressions over the change in flavour as they licked the legs.

He gave the flames time to die down, and the pups a chance to calm down, before cutting off the arms and the legs at the knee joints to give them all something to chew on while Paddy cooked over the coals. The pups were like deliriously happy kids with a new toy — running all around the cave with their bones in their mouths, playing tug–of–war with each other’s bones and encouraging Billy to join in.

Billy had broken the carcass’s hip joints and laid Paddy belly side down over the coals. The rib meat would cook quickly which was exactly what he wanted. He didn’t give it long, rolling it onto its back and sitting it along the edge of the coals while he sliced the meat from its bones. He couldn’t remember ever eating a tastier wallaby.

The pups were keen for some too, dropping their bones and looking longingly at Billy. He couldn’t believe they were still hungry but he gave them a taste anyway. They scoffed every morsel down until they just couldn’t fit in anymore. Then they went back to their bones with the exception of Moe, he spewed his guts up and came back for more. Now Billy understood why Moe was bigger than the others, he was a total guts.

Suddenly all hell broke loose — Larry and Curly were checking out Moe’s spew, which he didn’t like at all and chased them away. Then he ate it all back up again.

Billy was totally grossed–out, but not enough to turn him off his own tucker.

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Please "Like" my Facebook page and "Share" these chapters with your friends to help me spread the word. Gary Taaffe (author page) https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Gary-Taaffe/212091488802148?fref=ts
All my books are available here:www.BunyaPublishing.com  

Author Interview by Jessica B

Famous Amazon book reviewer and blogger Jessica B (@BooksATrueStory), nailed me down to torture this interview out of me. I don't do them often but Jessica has been an ardent fan of the Urban Hunters series from the beginning, so if you're interested in what she got out of me, check it out here: http://www.booksatruestory.com/2013/0...

A preview of the interview:

I’m so glad to have Gary Taaffe on my blog today! He’s written the Urban Hunters series about an Aboriginal boy who leaves the Australian bush. I asked Gary a few questions:

* What were your favorite books as a teen?
* Do you read young adult books now? If you do, what are some of your favorites?
* Do you have any other projects or ideas for the future besides Urban Hunters?
* What is the most interesting or bizarre thing you’ve googled while writing your books?
* What inspired you to write the Urban Hunters?

A Wonderful Beginning to a Fascinating Story..., by W. D La Rue

5 start review for FOUR SMALL STONES (book 1)

The best stories transport you and teach you something you did not now. This book took me out of NYC to the outback of Australia and in to the life of a young Aborigines boy. This book is full of a wonderful humanity and has a terrific sense of humor. I laughed out loud at least once.

Ever more endearing to me, though, is that I care about these people and the lives they live. Great start to the series.

I Am Growing to Love this Series..., by W. D LaRue

5 star review for TRIBAL SCARRING (book 2)

Having read the first book, I was not disappointed by this one.

This guy is a very good writer and this book is a thoroughly enjoyable read. I can't wait to read the rest of the books in this series and see how he develops the plot and the characters.

Billy has now left the clan and is now embarking on his "walkabout" and I am a little worried about him. Funny how a well written story can make you feel intensely about it's characters.