209 A Story ... The Offical Story

2010-05-20T15:36:00.001-07:00

Hello Everyone

I know it has been a while since the last time I blogged. I have been concentrating on my Masters Degree at the University of Melbourne. It is a degree in Digital Technology and Science. 209 A Story is something I have done. It is a mildstone in my life and I thank you for very much for all your email and comments.

I will continue to promote the novel as much as I can. My aim of making people are aware of an Australian Adventurer, ARTHUR GORDON McCRAE is helped along by things such as the exhibition at Melbourne Museum - the Artefacts of Titanic.

Btw... if you have a first edition copy of the novel and wish to sell it, can you please drop me an email as I have someone who wants to buy it.

Keep Happy...

Cheers
Steven

The WFC, the American Launch of 209 A Story and a friend of Elizabeth Taylor?

2009-10-28T19:12:00.000-07:00

I sit down on the lounge, put the rug over my knees, and place the notebook pc on my lap. I lean forward and press the play button on the remote control...
I begin to type...
One thing I find amazing about the travels I have undertaken with 209 A Story (since 2004) has been the large amount of people I have had the opportunity to meet. In each country, which I have been lucky enough to visit, the accents have been different and the people kind. Most of time, they have been happy to share their thoughts of RMS Titanic and just like at home, most people around the world do not know there was an Australian passenger on the ill feted voyage in 1912.
In 2006 I was in New York and had fulfilled a lifelong dream of staying at the Waldorf Astoria at 301 Park Avenue. I was writing the chapters of Dabria Livingstone and I threw myself into the life of that amazing city and the ideas just flowed on and on and on... I lived the story. I believe briefly that I captured the adventurous spirit of the protagonist of my novel.
During that visit I asked an American friend, George, ‘Have u seen Elizabethtown?’
An odd look appeared on his face. His eyes focused on me with purpose and he replied, ‘No, I don’t know Elizabeth Taylor.’
My expression must have mirrored his as he then quickly added... ‘What did u say?’
The differences in the Australian and American accents had caused confusion and we both laughed.
More about this later...
This past week the WFC (World Financial Crisis) finally come to visit my life. My planned 209 A Story Book Tour of the United States and Canada was postponed for a period of 12-18 months. It was suggested that it would be best to hold off until 210 and 211 are ready to ‘hit the shelves’. I was disappointed because there was not only the tour, I was to attend a dinner at Capriati, which was organised by the American Australian Association. Also, I was to meet with representatives of the Titanic Society of Canada in Toronto. More pointedly, it was my first opportunity to revisit Halifax in Nova Scotia and pay my respects to Arthur at the Fairview Cemetery (post the completion/publication of my interpretation of his story).
To say that I was gutted by the postponement is an understatement. It is difficult to write about the subject. Over the past week I have been trying to come to terms with ‘not getting what we think we deserve’. Like everyone else who faces disappointment I went through the range of emotions. I have questioned, revisited ideas, made pleading phone calls, gotten angry, laughed it off, cried a bit, shared the load with friends, received many messages from supportive friends on Facebook and finally... acceptance of the situation.
The DVD continues to play as I am writing this blog entry and I am distracted because I am being drawn into the storyline.
And then it happened... a realisation.
Sometimes when things in life disappoint you – one needs to look for the little flickers from the candle of life.
Funnily enough, as I finally gave in and just relaxed and watched the television screen in front of me... this movie became brighter than I could have possibly imagined. It was the story of a young man whose father had suddenly died. It was the story of his journey from his home in California to reclaim the body. It was the story of family in all its dysfunctional madness. It made me laugh and made me cry... and on this sunny day in Melbourne, Victoria, Australia in November 2009 – it reminded me of my friend, George, in New York City... and then I smiled.
The movie was called Elizabethtown.
However, it was more than just the thought of my friend (who does not know Elizabeth Taylor). It was the smiles at the vision of places I have been lucky enough to visit. It was the familiar music which I happen to enjoy. It was the giant burning fake eagle that made me laugh. And it was the many, many lines of dialogue that made me realise everything is as it should be...
‘It takes time to extract joy from life...’
‘You have 5mins to wallow in the delicious misery... enjoy it, embrace it, discard it... and proceed...’
‘Sadness is surrender. Make time to dance alone with one hand waving free.’
‘Look for the girl in the red hat who’s waiting for you with an alternate plan.’
‘Have the courage to fail big and stick around and let them wonder why you’re smiling...’
And my personal favourite...
‘Those who risk... Win’
Have a good week people
Cheers
Steven

Past... Present... Future...

2009-10-13T13:34:00.001-07:00

‘It will come as no surprise to anyone that everyone else is busy! With some people you begin to wonder if they are so busy as to avoid contact with you...’
That was the comment made to me at a lunch-date earlier this week. I had finally had the chance to catch up with a friend of mine, whom I had not seen for over two years. For the purpose of this blog, let’s call her MDP – that’s Ms MDP to everyone... including her friends. Funnily enough, we (that’s Ms MDP and Self) live in the same fabulous city of Melbourne. We once worked together. At that time, she was quiet and somewhat shy. She was not a drinker and her nature was overly considerate of others. We would often sit at lunch and discuss her University Study and my desire to write a novel about the only Australian who died on RMS Titanic.
We now find ourselves in completely different careers and (obviously) different social networks. She is a ‘groover and mover’. She now likes fast times, fast men and fast food. Her career is ‘successful’ (*). She has been promoted twice in the short time she has been at her new firm. Furthermore, from the way our conversation was progressing, it was becoming evident that she has gotten to know all her male colleagues in a way that is... umm... let’s suggest... ‘colourful’.
More about Ms MDP later...
Since the Melbourne Writers Festival, where I presented a paper called ‘Bring the Past into the Future’- (my observations of the book industry of the past/present/future) I have retreated away from the public side of 209 A Story and been working on the editing of 210 and writing 211. This trilogy has become my life. It is what I think about. It is what I dream about. I discuss it on the phone. I talk about it over dinner with family and friends. My flatmates put up with it because they know how important it is to me. It is constantly in my face because – as I pointed out at the Melbourne Writers Festival – ‘being a successful writer today has less to do with the skill of writing than it does with the ability to market oneself as a successful writer’. Please don’t get me wrong. I love what I do. However, when travelling around the globe on this ‘209 A Story World Book Launch Tour’ many people have suggested that it all just flows so easily. (This is a nice thought!)
As a writer in 2009 – the challenge to me is about the way, in which, I present my work. In the medium of ‘the novel as we know it’ – most things have been ‘done’. For perpetuity, I have developed a 4 year project around 209,210,211 – I know it is unique. I know it has not been attempted before ... this will ONLY become obvious after the launch of 211. It dances in my mind constantly... how incredibly amazing it all is... HOWEVER – only time will tell.
Ms MDP leans across the table to retrieve her ringing iPhone from her bag. She answers in a gruff tone. Like everyone else on the planet who finds themselves in a similar situation, I try to pretend that I am not listening to the one-sided conversation that is being played out in front of me. I look around the courtyard of the cafe on Chapel Street. I look up into the large tree. I see the new buds of spring. I see a small bird sitting on a branch. It is feeling content with its view.
Suddenly, she slams the phone down on the table. From the corner of my eye I see the bird fly off. Several ‘colourful’ words slip from between her pursed lips, her eyes widen and she throws back the remainder of her glass of Shiraz. I look blankly as she continues to tell me how she is going to ‘beat this **** to a pulp’ ... that’s if she attends the ***** proposed meeting the following morning... that’s if she has not contacted his **** boss first...
With a snap of her fingers she motions for the waiter to bring her another drink. I begin to think time has changed her...
While I was in New Zealand last week (pic above in Christchurch), someone asked me why I was writing a trilogy and not just one book. It was a valid question. What’s funny about meeting strangers who have bought your work is they often ask questions that I have to answer immediately. I don’t really have time to think about what I am about to say. I tried to formulate a response... I thought of Arthur McCrae (the only Australian to die on RMS Titanic and the protagonist of 209 A Story) – I thought of his sense of adventure. I thought of his life and how excited I was while researching the man. Obviously, the information I could find out about him was limited – remember it was 1912. Due to this question, I began to draw a parallel between his life and mine. It was the first time I had ever done so. I was travelling – just like him. I was living my adventure of life – just like him. I was an Australian – just like him. And I was going to New York in a few weeks – just like him. His future looked bright and optimistic – exactly how I feel at the moment while writing 211. My answer was something quite dull... I said, ‘The story of 209 finishes with Arthur boarding RMS Titanic so I wanted to elaborate as to what could have happened.’
The poor waiter happened to spill some of the wine down the side of the glass. Well... you can imagine the reaction. Glaring at him, Ms MDP demanded that she get a new glass... and to make it snappy.
Steven begins to think – WHO IS THIS PERSON?
For the next hour and half I listened. I listened to someone I did not know. I listened to her complain about her firm. I listened to sordid details of her sex life. I listened to her tell me about her trip to Greece last year, about her new found wealth, about her wild weekends of substance abuse and how she’d ‘***** anyone who stands in her way’. At no point did she ask me about my family or my book. At no point did she enquire as to other people, with whom we had worked. She did not ask me about possible relationships or lack there of... There was nothing...
Ms MDP now stood and told me how she had to ‘go and ****’ and told me to order her another drink.
While she was at the bathroom, I thought... ‘What am I doing?’ Not just at that moment... but about why I was writing a trilogy... the question that had been asked of me came back to me... my response was better formed from what I was experiencing currently ... and here it is...
Over time people can change. They can change for reasons of good and be affected by events that are bad. They can go out and discover the world. They can close their minds. They can find happiness in the coming of spring. They can lose their life. They can remain on a band wagon and fall into patterns. Or they can live their dream...

Have a good week everyone.
Cheers
Steve

(*) you can put your own interpretation on the meaning of ‘successful’

Time Begins Again

2009-10-13T03:12:00.000-07:00

Hello Everyone

Thanks for all the email over the past few weeks regarding 209 A Story. I have allocated tomorrow to update the blog. I have been so incredibly busy with the marketing, launch events, travel and writing 211 that this will be the first opportunity for me to catch up with you all.

Thanks Again
Speak tomorrow
Steven

209 A Story in the Leader News Paper

2009-09-15T20:21:00.000-07:00

http://mornington-peninsula-leader.whereilive.com.au/lifestyle/story/mccrae-tale-of-epic-proportions/

U R Invited to the Writers Festival in Melbourne #209MWF

2009-08-19T17:43:00.001-07:00

I’ll try to brief... Here’s the go... I have to come up with a unique angle for the paper I will give at the Writer’s Festival TOMORROW and I will tell you what I have in mind... in a minute...

I will give u some background information first...

OK – here goes... in March – there was a conference on Education Reform in the USA – it was held in New York – there were 40 people who attended. At the beginning of this conference – they were asked to TWEET on Twitter as to what they were doing. Within minutes there were hundreds of people who were following this through the HASHFEED or ‘#’ feed on Twitter – AND – also providing comments, suggestions, humour and their thoughts on Education Reform in the USA...

To quote... ‘Injecting Twitter into that conversation fundamentally changed the rules of engagement. It added a second layer of discussion and brought a wider audience into what would have been a private exchange. And it gave the event an afterlife on the Web.’ (Time Magazine June 15 2009 p26)

Here’s the angle I want for my Paper...

We plan to have a large Television screen on display and the computer linked up to it with TWITTER...

I am going to ask those who are in the crowd with Twitter to post using the hash line feed - #209MWF – (standing for 209 Melbourne Writers Festival) –

All I would like you to do is to follow the feed and add a tweet. I have asked a number of my friends around the world to Tweet at the event – to get it started and that is where you come in – so you will be able to log on to Twitter and follow me – http://www.twitter.com/StevenRafter

The only problem that is envisaged is the time difference – My allocation of time is at 4pm EST Australia on Friday, 21st August – which could mean that it will be fairly early in the morning/late at night for you...

http://www.timeanddate.com/worldclock/

We'll post a video of it on youtube so you can see your tweet at the festival...

I really would appreciate your support on this – because your TWEET will become part of history of the Writers Festival. My paper will be setting precedence and it will be a great help for me in demonstrating where literature is going in the new millennium –

It’s just important to me that’s all.. steve x

So - HERE ARE THE STEEPS

1. Go to www.twittter.com
2. Join TWITTER (IT'S FREE & u DON'T HAVE TO GIVE OUT PERSONAL DETAILS)
3. On YOUR PAGE - there will be a long white blank space at the top - this is where u can ask a question or simply say HELLO! THIS IS THE IMPORTANT THING.... ready? Anywhere in the message (or TWEET as it is called) you MUST INCLUDE the follow ... #209MWF
4. Once you have 'TWEETED' the #209MWF will turn purple - click on it and u can follow the feed from around the world and be part of my paper of the Writers Festival in Melbourne...
5. Finally, if you want to follow me - u can do so by simply going into 'FIND PEOPLE' (top right hand side... in the tool bar) - click on it and then enter Steven Rafter... you're done...

Chapter 12

2009-08-09T18:40:00.000-07:00

Chapter 12

London England 1908

Australia Wins Gold at the Olympics

The warm towel was lifted. His face was then lathered generously with soaping foam and with each stroke of the shaped razor blade the beard was slowly removed. Arthur's skin tingled and upon completion of the final stroke, the elderly barber moved efficiently toward the sizeable mirror attached to the wall within the mahogany cubical. In front of the mirror was a bench, upon which were placed the tools of the trade. From one crystal bottle he removed a silver lid and poured a generous amount of lotion onto his open palm. Arthur had been advised that a relaxing experience was something that gentlemen anticipated from a visit to Geo F Trumper's. It lived up to all expectations.

He was delighted to be in London. Theo had continued on to Russia, and before leaving Africa, Arthur sent word to Aberton Chartres-Hume advising his school friend of his imminent arrival in England.

Strolling along Curzon Street, he was amazed at beauty of the city and the tall buildings that lined the streets of Mayfair. He made the decision to walk back to South Molton Street as the summer afternoon was warm and the air was far cleaner than he had expected it would be. Previous to his visit, the many conversations he had had with various people about London were often dotted with negative experiences. However, this was not what he found; nor was it what he sort.

Arthur was sure he would soon have word from, Aberton, and they would do all the things they had planned over the years past.

The Posters for the Melbourne Writers Festival

2009-08-01T21:31:00.000-07:00

Chapter 11

2009-08-01T21:23:00.000-07:00

Chapter 11

St Petersburg Russia 1904

‘Your Majesty’ said Charlotte as she lowered into a deep, respectful courtesy.

The Czarina was in an uncharacteristically good mood and commanded for the Countess Rominscov to immediately take a seat in her presence.

The ageing lady sat gracefully upon the newly upholstered chair.

The sitting room of Her Imperial Majesty, wife of Czar Nicholas II, in the Alexander Palace at Czarskoe Selo, about twenty-four versts south of St Petersburg was a room that could only be described as, 'warm'. Religious iconography was everywhere. It covered the walls and tables, and between these could be found silver picture frames and many albums that held photographs of members of the Czarina's family. It all clashed very badly as the colour of everything else, including the furniture, table cloths, cushions, drapes, pelmets and even the flowers was mauve. Directly in the middle of the wall, on the left, was an overly large photograph of Queen Victoria framed in mahogany and gold leafing; it appeared to survey the entire room.

It was not how Charlotte remembered the Grandmother of the woman sitting opposite her. And to Charlotte, the late English Queen, even at the worst moments of widowhood, was never as cold, puritanical, pertinacious or intolerant as the current Empress of Russia. Alexandra Fyodorovna had splashes of kindness and good humour but these were rare moments witnessed by few but the closest inner workings of the Russian Imperial Family. Charlotte had her own thoughts of why this was the case but kept them to herself.

Outside the powdery snow fell on an already white frozen ground. The date was 10^th February, 1904. Two days earlier Japan had declared war on Russia and surprised everyone with an attack on the Imperial Naval fleet at Port Arthur.

The last time Charlotte had be in attendance to the Czarina had been two days prior to the Japanese attack when the entire court had travelled by the Royal Train to attend the Purification of the Virgin ceremonies at the great Cathedral of St Peter and St Paul in the capital. Charlotte's recollection of the event was prompted by her current surroundings and the everlasting memory of the colour of the Empress' dress and enormous hat; it was all mauve.

Latest Video

2009-07-26T12:59:00.001-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6qLFcfWoPEA

Chapter 10

2009-07-26T02:28:00.000-07:00

Chapter 10

South Africa 1907

Nothing is as it May Seem...

A conscious feeling stirred in him. It may have only been due to the vivid memories which were recalled so clearly. It may have been the return to Port Elizabeth itself. Whatever it was, it sat uncomfortably on his shoulders and from the comment his appearance roused in Theo, it appeared painfully across his face as well.

'Are you going to tell me what is wrong?' he asked.

'With what, exactly?' Arthur asked in reply, his eyebrows remained crumpled inwardly and both hands clenched on his lap.

'Well, by the look on your face, we are heading to a dinner with the devil, and not a beach holiday in Port Elizabeth,' he chide.

When Theo accepted Arthur's offer to holiday with him in Port Elizabeth, he was unaware of the catalyst for heading south. Theo thought he was going to be journeying to the Eastern Cape to have a beach vacation similar to what he had experienced as a younger man with several members from his college days: when they would leave Boston in the early summer, and head to an extravagant beach house owned by the parents of one of the boy's on Long Island or the Jersey Shore. He remembered one year, in particular, when they travelled to Ocean Grove, New Jersey and had a whale of time at the Palace Merry-Go-Round on the corner of Lake Avenue and Kingsley Street in Ashbury Park. Although he did not say so to Arthur, he remembered the exact time, date and spot where he lost his virginity.

'I am sorry, Theo,' said Arthur. As they steamed southward, he informed, Theo, of all the details and the real reason why he was going to Port Elizabeth. Arthur took time to explain the correct order of events and why he was confused about the situation.

'So, let me get this correct... Paul... the fellow whose house at which we are going to stay has sent you that letter – he pointed to the letter Arthur was now holding in his hand - to tell you that you have someone impersonating you. And that person is trying to get hold of a package in your safety deposit box. That box no one, apart from you and I, know about. And you have no idea what the package contains. You have not had word from Professor Romins for over three years,' he summarised in his usual, loquacious fashion.

'More or less,' confirmed Arthur with a slight nod of his head.

Theo sat stunned for several minutes before he spoke again, 'There is never a dull moment with you, Arthur McCrae.'

'I am sure there is a logical explanation to it all. Paul has sent me his address and we will go directly to his house and await his return to from work.' advised Arthur.

Even though Arthur may have suggested that a logical explanation would be forthcoming, that unsettling feeling, which he had felt since the previous week did not leave him.

Now... that's a lot of pictures...

2009-07-22T23:21:00.000-07:00

Bringing The Past into The Future

2009-07-22T15:49:00.001-07:00

Hey Everyone

I have taken a break from working on my paper for the Melbourne Writers Festival. I feel honoured that '209 A Story' was selected for the most prestigious festival on the Australian literary calendar. Furthermore, the launch is on the Opening Day of the Festival at 4pm on Friday, 21 August, 2009. It is a free event, open to the public, and is to be held in the Festival Club at the Australian Centre for the Moving Image (AMCI) on Federation Square - (smack bang in the heart of the amazing city of Melbourne).

The paper I am delivering is titled - 'Bringing The Past into The Future'. This has not come about simply because '209 A Story' is the adventure of the only Australian passenger to become a victim of the RMS Titanic disaster in April 1912. It is because of the book itself. '209 A Story' is a woven fabric of four lives covering a period of 150 years. '209 A Story' is the first in a trilogy, in which the past is bought into the future. A future which is fundamental to the story itself. It is the research I am doing and the research I have completed that makes it so exciting...

While working on '211 A Future', I am madly cross referencing with '210 A Time' - I am caught up in the possibilities of what is going to happen to the world in the coming decades (in particular - 'Singularity'). The changes are going to be radical. I truly believe it is this essence of the technological wonderment that is the catalyst to the magical beauty of my novels - hence bringing the past into the future.

I am bringing something of the technological present to the festival. It has not been attempted before now. On the afternoon of Friday 21 August a HASH TAG FEED from TWITTER will be included... (#209MWF). Over 100 people in 83 countries have advised they will be 'TWEETING" to the event in Melbourne. This is no small feat considering it will be 'silly o'clock' in the Americas and early 'breakfast time' in Europe and Africa. I have FACEBOOK to thank for this and the thousands who are my friends and supporters. In doing so, it will support the international flovour to the festival. It will also add an extra dimension to my paper. This could not have occurred in the past. It will also have a future because the HASH TAG FEED will remain open and comments can be added after the event. Fundamentally, it is the way of the future for publications.

In that one action I will have succeeded in establishing the entire point of my paper. I am attempting to bring the future of publishing novels into a present, which is so influenced by the past.

I understand that novels need to sell. In this day and age when over 3000 books are published DAILY, when 7 out of 10 novels make no money at all, when the once proud Publishing Houses are not taking on new writers due to cost cutting, I realise I am attempting something pretty challenging. I JUST CANNOT GIVE UP... What I will say at this point is this... I never wish to regret not trying to achieve my goal of a trilogy of novels published under my name. Obviously, if people read them and enjoy them - I am pleased. If people read them and hate them - I understand. But the joy in it for me is that I achieved a goal. No supporter or critic can remove that from my CV of Life.

So I will leave it with you.

If you want to attend the Writers Festival here's the link to what's on in Melbourne...

Should you wish to participate in the HASH TAG FEED - here's the link...
http://twitter.com/StevenRafter

Finally, as I am going back to brain storming for my 'moment' at the Melbourne Writers Festival - (and truly anxious in my hope of people turning up... OH GOD - that will be a blog in itself! tee hee!)... I smile - because... my past is what has given my present... and the present is giving me... my future!

Cheers
Steven

Chapter 9

2009-07-19T19:19:00.000-07:00

Bank of Africa
2 Military Road
Port Elizabeth
South Africa

Friday, 15th March 1907.

Dearest Arthur,

This is my last attempt to make contact with you. I do hope you receive this letter.

The reason for my concern is set out as follows and your immediate attention to it is of utmost importance.

I have concerns regarding the account that you opened here in Port Elizabeth three years ago.

I was disappointed to hear that you had made a visit to Port Elizabeth while I was away but there was good reason for my absence. I am now the manager of the branch and it worried me when a man presented himself here a few months back claiming to be you and wishing to access your safety deposit box. It was only by chance that I overheard the situation with one of my staff when I realised something was wrong.
Should I not have word from you within seven days, I will need to refer the matter to the police.

Yours Sincerely,

Paul Vandenberg
Manger,
Bank of Africa.
Port Elizabeth.

Chapter 8

2009-07-11T21:16:00.000-07:00

Chapter 8

Port Elizabeth, South Africa 1904

33º 58'S 25° 35'E

'Arhhh... Uitlander?' he suggested with a slight grumble.

'Well... Yes,' he answered almost with embarrassment as he had begun to loss count of how many times someone had been referred to him as such.

'From where do you hail?' he asked.

'I am from Australia. I arrived a few days ago and I might say I am very impressed with Port Elizabeth. It reminds me of Sydney,' said Arthur.

His eyes grew wide with excitement as he crowed, 'Sydney! I have a brother who is out in New South Wales. His name is Michael Michaelson. Do you know of him?'

'Can't say that I do, Charlie,' he replied with a smirk on his face.

Bang!

Then equally as quickly another shot rang out. This time it was closer to where he stood and Arthur jumped somewhat startled at the sound and much to the amusement of Charlie.

The sows were not impressed and the largest of the group leapt forward without warning and almost knocked over the pen. Several clumps of boggy mud flew up into the air and splattered over the owner.

'I wish they would stop that,' demanded Charlie curtly as he tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to calm his small herd.

'What are they doing?' asked Arthur.

'There is a new gunsmith in town. He's from the United States of America and he's selling a new single action, semi-automatic pistol,' he offered. 'They are good, bought one myself, I did. The pistol is good but the fellow selling them is a bit of mad-hatter.'

A number of stall holders were marching in the direction of the gunsmith to make a complaint to him about their startled animals. Once again, Arthur smiled for he was unaware if they had considered, for a moment, to whom they were going to make their complaint.

'It's been nice chatting to you, Charlie. Best of luck with the sale of your pigs. I hope you get a fair price,' suggested Arthur sincerely.

'Arhhh... You'll learn my friend. Apart from the beautiful beaches and fine weather... there are very few things termed... 'fair' in South Africa,' he smiled.

For the next hour - and three gunshots later - Arthur continued to be fascinated by the life of the market. It had energy of its own. People continued to be friendly; the animals appeared to become more unsettled with each sudden discharge from the 'mad-hatter'.

A situation then occurred that would become a burned memory for Arthur of his time in Port Elizabeth. At the point when he entered the row of stalls dedicated to grain and seed he was surprised at the corridor or brilliant colour. There were barrels and tins, bags and buckets, all fall of various grains for farmers and for mills and for domestic use. There appeared to be hundreds of different sorts of grain. The sight was remarkable and at that point, Arthur made the decision to go to immediately to the Town Hall, from where he knew he would be able to purchase several postcards to send home to his family and also one to Jefferson to tell him of the agricultural delights he was now seeing.

About half way along the alley a quick succession of gunshots rang out. They appeared louder and closer and a subsequent commotion appear to fall across the entire square. Several screams, cracking timbers and ripping sheets of material were heard and Arthur's thoughts turned immediately to the stall holders who went in search of the gunsmith.

Slight vibrations from the ground were felt in both his legs and he did not know which way to look or which action to take. All he knew was that it becoming stronger and stronger and he wondered if this is what it felt like at the commencement of an earthquake.

'Run,' screamed a woman who looked shocked as she passed Arthur.

'Watch out,' yelled a man as he climbed onto one of the large storage bins of native seeds.

'What is going on?' thought Arthur alarmed as he too jumped atop one of the large grain bins. He turned to see what was happening along the lane between the stalls. From the direction where he had just been, the slight vibrations quickly become a stampede of livestock. Arthur burst into laughter when he noticed that leading the collection of escaped animals was a large black Berkshire Hog Sow, squealing like a happy child, ears flapping wildly and with what appeared to be a big smile across its face.

Abruptly the stampeding ceased. Many animals were now pushing their hungry mouths into the Aladdin's Cave they had discovered within the stalls.

The grain merchants were not at all impressed.

The owners of the livestock were even less so.

The mad-hatter was about to be leaving town.

A Pictorial Video of 209 A Story... So Far...

2009-07-07T22:35:00.000-07:00

Chapter 7

2009-07-06T03:11:00.000-07:00

Chapter 7

Sydney Australia

Final Year at University 1903

About half way along the Corso they stopped to observe a conversation that was occurring between an old man and a young boy. The old man sat upon a small boulder and beside him stood the young boy who appeared to be his grandson. It was obvious that the old man was talking to the child about the sizable rock engraving he held in his hands. His eyes were large, dark and kind, his hair was greying and curly, and he gestured at the rock, explaining the story of the engraving to the young boy. The old man motioned for Molly and Arthur to come closer and look at the rock.

The old man was an elder of the Cannalgal Clan, which had originally inhabited the area around Manly. His heritage was far older than that of anyone who had recently arrived at the Great Southern Land. The Guringai People had lived in the area for more than six thousand years. They now found their people decimated by small pox, European influences and worst of all, discrimination.

Hesitating slightly, they moved forward enticed by the tone of his voice and the sparkle dancing in his eyes.

'Boo!' he said loudly and then broke into laughter which was as soft as the look in his eyes and Molly and Arthur looked at one another and joined in the amusement.

Although neither understood a word of what the other was saying, his story continued for several more minutes.

They were able to make out on the colourful engraving the North Head and also a gathering of men who appeared to be healing another man who was lying on the ground. The rich colour of the ochre and other paints used on the engraving was extraordinary. The little boy was proud of the words of his grandfather and Molly and Arthur remained captivated.

'Here there!' boomed the voice from behind where they stood and approaching rapidly. 'What's going on here?'

'Nothing, Officer,' advised Arthur resolutely.

Confusion settled upon the little gathering. The old man dropped his engraving which broke into two as it hit the ground, the little boy hurriedly bent to retrieve the pieces, Molly looked with horror at the hatred in the expression on the police officer's contorted face and Arthur tried to ease the situation. The uniformed officer reached for his single-shot weapon from a holster on his right hip.

'No!' demanded Arthur. 'You have the wrong idea, Officer. Everything is agreeable.'

His huffing and puffing was tantamount to the ridiculousness of what he was suggesting.

Only when Arthur stood himself directly between the Officer and the old man, was he able to break the trance in which the zealot found himself.

'No!' he said again forcefully. 'This old man was explaining the story of his engraving to us.’

'He is not an old man... he is a savage... They should not be here,' he growled with parvanimity and slowly lowered his weapon.

Molly began to cry. The little boy looked at the tears welling in her eyes.

'We will move on, Officer. They did not mean any harm,' said Arthur exasperated with what had just occurred.

'No!' he demanded loudly. 'You... can stay... they will move on!' he said waving his hands at the old man and the young boy who began to cower backwards.

Have a good week everyone...

Steven

Chapter 6

2009-07-01T15:37:00.000-07:00

Chapter 6
University of Sydney 1902
Four Weeks in Autumn
Commencing Sunday, 2nd March at 8:30am.

Isaac Roverstein wanted to belong. Like most young people in their salad days, when life is full of hope and green with promise, he longed to feel comfortable within himself. Apart from his excessive quoting at some inappropriate moments, he was indeed more popular than he realised. The efforts he made to appear simpatico with his fellow Paulines and how he juggled his personal commitments to his parents, his faith, his college and his university studies was scinerely admired by most.
He attended obligatory chapel service where he usually sat between Arthur and Harry on Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings. He knew all the stories, parables and passages from both the Old and New Testaments and, like the lines from Shakespeare, he was almost as expert with quoting times, dates, places and characters of the religious texts. However, his Jewish faith had been something, about which, he had never felt completely comfortable around others in his college. His one true friend had been Arthur McCrae who accepted him for who was, challenged him with his opinions and always let him know when enough was enough.
When Isaac returned to St Paul's College on the morning of Sunday, 2nd March, 1902, to find no one around, he realised where they would all be. He straightened his tie, donned his academic gown and made his way with haste to the Chapel. It was his first day back at the college since arriving home to Australia from an extended holiday with his parents to see relatives in the United States of America. He had made the return journey by himself as his father needed to remain on business and his mother wanted to spend time with her sister who had just delivered her ninth child.
Service had already commenced and the droning sounds from the baroque organ were accompanied by the baritone voices of the collegians singing his favourite hymn written by Neander in 1680. They were into its final verse... 'Let the Amen sound from His people again... Gladly for aye we adore Him.'

The Posters for the Writers Festival - Melbourne

2009-06-28T03:24:00.000-07:00

Chapter 5

2009-06-20T14:00:00.000-07:00

Chapter 5

University of Sydney 1901
Deo Patriae Tibi

'I can't believe they got away with only a reprimand,' Arthur commented as he read aloud a story from the Sydney newspaper about the prank at Fort Denison the year before.
'What do you mean you can't believe it?' questioned Harry with a mischievous grin appearing upon his face, in recollection of the event and a contemptible wish that he had been the one who had caused such a stir within the growing community of Sydney.
A cool breeze sneaked through the window of the second floor room at St Paul's College. Muffled sounds of undergraduate gentleman on their way to classes at the main university buildings could be heard; it was a little before ten o'clock in morning. In front of both young men was a hearty, half eaten breakfast of sausages covered in the most pungent smelling onion sauce, along with too many slices of fried potato, a generous helping of boiled cabbage and a double serving of toast; all being accompanied by a selection of condiments.
Arthur continued his assessment of the report while looking somewhat perplexed at Harry's ridiculous lingering grin, 'According to this article five shipmen from the visiting ship, 'Medic', led by the Fourth Office, a fellow by the name of Mr Charles Lightoller, rowed out in the early hours of the morning to the island of Fort Denison. There they hoisted the Boer flag of South Africa and set off an explosion that lit up the night sky, shaking the ground violently, smashing windows and waking almost everybody bar the dead...' he smiled before adding, 'and even some of them may have been disturbed.'
'Arh, I remember it well, my dear fellow,' said Harry joining Arthur in his amusement at the thought of a commotion at the cemetery. 'I say really, Arthur, I had spent the most boring day of my life with Isaac at some theatrical club event for the college. As if that was not enough, we had then been roaming the city in search of some fun when suddenly, Isaac decided it was time to retire for the evening... at eighty-thirty. A most disagreeable fellow and I do not understand how you put up with him constantly quoting all that Shakespeare rubbish.'
Placing the newspaper to one side and taking a sip of tea, Arthur immediately replaced the china cup onto its matching saucer, hurriedly heaped a generous teaspoon full of sugar from the sliver plated sugar bowl and then clumsily plunked it into the cup. During the effort he spilled half of it onto the white tablecloth while managing to splash warm tea over the sides. With his left hand he began to brush the wayward grains methodically toward the edge of the oval plate. His preoccupation with cleaning up his mess warranted a strange glance from his breakfast companion who had seen it all before on many occasions. However, his condescending observance did not worry Arthur, as this systematic approach to ignoring what Harry had to say about Isaac appeared to work every time.

Chapter 4

2009-06-13T15:34:00.000-07:00

Chapter Four

New York City - Present Day
Shift Happens

There was fundamentally no reason whatsoever why Dabria Livingstone should have been flying into New York on the evening of the 16th March, during a seasonal cold snap in the early northern spring- other than, of course, to satisfy her overwhelming sense of curiosity. Dabria was financially well above comfortable but regardless, at this point, she would need to undertake some serious wheeling and dealing to be able to afford the object of her latest intrigue. Closing the glossy catalogue over which she had spent the last hour admiring various items, she replaced the lid to the black fountain pen she had used to scribble several short notes on pages: twelve, forty-one and fifty-three. Dabria thought wilfully. The satisfaction of her sense of curiosity would be manageable but the other would be more difficult.
Dabria liked her life, she was good at most things she did and had developed a habit of referring to everyone as, 'darling'.
'Ladies and Gentlemen please be aware that the seat belt sign has been illuminated, and the Captain would ask that you return to your seat and prepare for landing,' requested the voice over the planes internal intercom system.
Dabria moved instinctively in her seat and placed her left hand purposefully across her waist to make sure that the seatbelt was fastened while continuing to listen to the voice. The American Airlines flight AA40 would be touching down at seven forty-two pm into JFK Airport; a few minutes before the scheduled arrival. Following baggage claim, it would allow time enough, for the thirty-six year old, who had left Melbourne earlier that day, to be at her hotel by 9 o'clock.
Pushing the plastic window shade upward, the light from over the left wing of the plane lit up the sky far brighter than Dabria would have expected. She smiled at the comparison to a set of car headlights on high beam. On this occasion, at an altitude of nineteen thousand feet, she hoped amusingly, that the lights of the plane would not need to be deemed for oncoming traffic.
The plane unexpectedly lurched and her smirk disappeared instantly. From the corner of her eye, Dabria saw the hostess stumble. Her outstretched arms were trying to aid her in regaining her balance. Whatever had been in the hands of the hostess flew into the air and several of the passengers let out a cry in unison.

Have a nice week everyone...

Steven
ps - the pic was taken at the Waldorf=Astoria in New York - where I was staying while writing this chapter of 209 A Story - and also it is the destination of Dabria Livingstone - when she survives this flight into NYC...

Chapter 3

2009-06-07T14:53:00.000-07:00

Chapter 3

Sydney Australia Summer 1897

'Roam like Kings-

Defend like Heroes!

Charm like Angels;

Live every single day...

To thine self be true.'

Unknown

‘It can never happen again,’ he whispered, as he closed the door silently behind him and left.

Arthur Gordon McCrae stood as quiet as his surroundings in the middle of the large sparsely furnished room. The silence reflected the solitude, and comparatively he was as tall and as colourless as the candle which burned slowly atop the rosewood dresser in the boarding house of the Sydney Grammar School.

Alone, he was not; there were three of them – one real and two reflections. One could be seen in the pane of glass from the window and the other, soundless and unresponsive, in the slightly speckled mirror. The real one gazed alternately, and momentarily, upon the others. With purpose, he pulled almost shut, the long, dark green velvet curtain; now there were two of them.

The real one regarded the other and even though the candle flickered briefly, Arthur could see the adventure begin to dance in his deep blue eyes. The skin was pale, the hair ruffled and in need of a cut, the lips were as red as a ripe strawberry and the face was mature for his seventeen years. It was not a match for the rest of his body. Lifting one hand toward his left cheek, Arthur then moved his fingers unhurriedly downward; commencing from just near to his ear and following the line of his rounded jaw, until his index finger came to rest upon his bottom lip. The mind dreamed of adventures and his body was warmed by the very slight stale wisp of air, which presented itself from the hot Australian summer of 1897.

Tomorrow would begin his final week before the beginning of the Christmas holiday. Even at this moment, his anticipation for the following year was real. Arthur would be in his final year of studies at the prestigious establishment of the Sydney Grammar School.

Disregarding the silver plated snuff that matched the holder, Arthur gave one swift blow; the candle extinguished – and now there was one.

Removing his attire, and not bothering to dress in the cotton night shirt which almost covered the small wooden chair, he lay naked on his oversized single bed. Placing both hands behind his head and gazing upward, the darkened corners of the room drew his attention for what seemed like a long time. And as the soporific environment claimed its prize, his final contemplation asserted the moment. ‘The far distant corners,'

209 A Story... made it into the Melbourne Writers Festival...

2009-06-05T01:31:00.000-07:00

more to come...

Cheers Steve

Chapter 2 & the Passing of Titanic into History

2009-05-31T19:02:00.000-07:00

I was awoken at a little after 6am with a phone call to inform me that Millvina Dean, the last survivor of RMS Titanic, had died in Southampton, England. I was saddened to hear about her passing as I had visited Southampton during the UK launch tour of 209 A Story. She was unwell at the time but I am fortunate to now count among my souveniers of the tour, a signed photograph of RMS Titanic. With her passing comes the last living connection to the great ship. I have also come to appreciate that many, many fans of Titanic will be moved by her passing. She was a very nice old lady whose life had been shaped by an event that she was too young to recall. May she now rest in peace.

Thank you to all of those people who have sent me email regarding the novel and telling me how much they have been enjoying it - but I will add, at this point, I am not upset when I receive email telling me that I have been the reason for several 'late nights' as those people who are reading 209 A Story, 'fall into the novel' and 'can't put it down'! (what a compliment!)

Have a nice week everyone.

Cheers Steven

Chapter 2

Valenciennes - Northern France 1918.

And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted - "Open then the Door!
You know how little time we have to stay,
And once departed, may return no more."
The Rubaiyat by Omar Khayyám 12th Century
…and often quoted by British Troops as they went into Battle during World War I

‘The name is Edward Parfett, but you can call me, Ned,’ he offered with a thick cockney accent and a forced smile
Ned saluted.
His smile was no longer the natural boyish grin that would usually accompany an introduction to someone. Here, late afternoon in a wet and muddy field, was an old man’s mind in the body of a younger man; and who was only a few years older than the turn of the century.
The spattering of rain ceased.
The relentless sound of shelling continued in the distance, the sound of which was both pernicious and horrifying.
The Western Front, in the autumn of 1918, was little more than fields upon fields of death. Hundreds of thousands of men had become heroes; dying in the most disgusting and brutal way possible. The many thousands who remained on the front line had now witnessed the true meaning of hell on earth. To the majority, the actuality of this war numbed their sensibility to the true horror that was present.
As the two men shook hands briefly, Joseph McGuire took one step back and stroked his somewhat protruding jaw; a habit he had only recently acquired.
‘I have met you before, Ned. Almost a year ago,’ said Joseph.
His twenty-five year old face was unfamiliar now.
It was another outcome of the war. It changed the men who had survived. The once healthy faces that shone with the ideals of the British Empire were beginning to fade. Eyes were greyed and dulled, features drawn and gaunt, and once full and proud moustaches had become similar to discarded, out of season, pine needles strewn across the ground.
Ned’s eyes searched his expression momentarily for some sign by which to identify Joseph McGuire …but still nothing.
‘The Captain wishes to see you immediately, Ned,’
That one directive generated recognition.
Two pigeons flew overhead.
Second-Lieutenant Joseph McGuire was acting as secretary to Captain James Roxbrough, who was in command of the Royal Artillery 126th Brigade, 37th Division, and based at, Valenciennes, in northern France. He had been at his post since the horrendous winter of the previous year. It had been forty winters since Europe had seen such conditions.
These meteorological elements affected both sides equally.
He had indeed met him on a previous occasion. Almost twelve months previous Gunner Parfett had been awarded a military medal for service and gallantry as a dispatch rider. Ned’s abilities during his brief military career had been flexible and varied with a soldierly persona, consistent and alert.
Knowing the drill, Ned stood to attention, and saluted again.
Both men walked off in different directions.
The falling of the rain recommenced.
The audible sounds of shelling in the distance remained… still as deadly and still as horrific.

A Sneak at the Unedited Version of 209 A Story

2009-05-26T03:21:00.000-07:00

I have decided to include in my blog a snippet from each of the unedited chapters of 209 A Story... (which ended up being the first edition run of the novel - numbering only 500)... yes... it has been interesting getting the feedback becuase you have some who are SO happy to have a copy of the 'unedited' version... and others who are less than pleased. All I can do is make the most of the mistake and wish them well on ebay... tee hee... I hope u enjoy it... have a good week... Steve

Chapter 1

Balmoral Castle Scotland

15^th April 1865

‘Your Majesty’ said Charlotte as she lowered into a deep, respectful courtesy.

The Queen moved somewhat uncomfortably in her seat while appearing to look directly through the pale figure that stood three paces from the edge of her large, cluttered mahogany desk. The momentary silence broken with the crunching sound of the crinolines of the Queen’s black mourning dress as she regained her composure. Wafting pulses of lilac drew Charlotte’s attention to the porcelain vase on a table, off to one side and filled with spring flowers of daisies, early roses, laburnums and, of course, several sprigs of lilac.

‘After I became Queen in 1837, my first Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne, suggested that it was impossible for a woman to stand alone for any time, in whatever position she may be.’ Raising her slender eyebrows alluded to the Queen’s opinion of such a statement and a slight dignified smile appeared on the sovereigns lips.

A wave of her right hand was the command for the slight twenty-five year-old to take a seat in the Royal Presence.

That late Saturday afternoon was uncharacteristically warm; especially for the north of Scotland. The pinkish clouds were visible from the large bay window and the manatee, opal coloured sky was a canvas on which the clouds floated without purpose, or direction.

Upon the grey and red tartan covered chair, Charlotte sat upright with her shoulders back. This was generally the way in which she sat but on this occasion she was overly conscious of her posture. Her petite hands nestled into the folds of her full skirt and her blue eyes did not move from the face of her Sovereign who continued to move things around on her desk. Typical of the fashion of the day, her long mouse coloured hair was rolled into the up-swept style and framed a pleasant rounded face, wearing no makeup, for it was forbidden in all Royal Households and the only jewellery being a small silver cross that was attached to a long, thin chain. While waiting for her audience to continue, Charlotte was conscious that her breathing had quickened the instant she walked into the room.

Across the table, lay several leaves of paper; a mixture of hand written and printed text and other thickened cards of various images. On one particular piece was an illustration of a grand celebration at Taymouth Castle; on another a small group of people rowing out across Loch Tay and, quite visible on the third, was an engraving of the novelist, Sir Walter Scott.

The large sitting room at Balmoral Castle in the Scottish Highlands was a welcomed retreat for the widowed Queen of four agonising years. The entire room was furnished in the same tartan; the design of which had been by the Consort himself. The ceiling mouldings were brightly coloured and on the wall were several paintings of stags and local landscapes; all in keeping with the ancient Scottish heritage. It was comfortable, for it was a place in which the Queen worked on her papers, corresponded with members of her growing family, and a place she would often listen to the readings of Dr Norman Macleod, the local minister at Crathie Church, while she would operate one of her several spinning wheels.

Continuing to shuffle papers, purposefully, Her Majesty wrote several times in the generous margins of each printed transcripts. The notes were edits for the first edition of her, 'Highland Journal'.

From left to right the large blotter rolled several times in her tiny hand before straining forward and returning it to its tamarind coloured leather stand.

Atop the fireplace the ticking from a wooden clock set the pace.

‘Charlotte, you have always been very special to me … and to Prince Albert.' she added reflectively. 'The day, on which you were born, was the very same day as our marriage,’ Her thoughts wondered fleetingly to the memory of a cupid writing the date on a scroll placed across its knees that adorned the Queen’s three hundred pound, multi-tiered wedding cake … ‘10^th February 1840’.

A brief and somewhat nervous smile now came to Charlotte’s face as she fiddled with a linen handkerchief trimmed with Honiton lace. It had once belonged to the consort of King George III, her namesake, and had been a gift from her own mother.

The Queen remained imperturbable.

‘I have decided that the time has come, Charlotte. That you have stood alone for long enough. I have had word that Baron Rominscov will be in attendance at Balmoral in June before the Court returns to London. The Baron currently holds the title of Colonel of the 1st Guards Cavalry Division of the Imperial Russian Guard and is coming as a Special Envoy to the Czar Alexander of Russia.’

Turning to her left and opening the desk drawer, Queen Victoria removed a dark green felt covered box. She lifted the lid unceremoniously and removed a small miniature from inside and handed it to Charlotte.

‘But, Your Majesty …’ Charlotte did not continue for she knew better than to question the expressed wish of the Queen. This was an asserted royal prerogative not a questionable opportunity.

A strident and somewhat discordant knock at the door interrupted the conversation.

‘Enter’ commanded the Queen loudly.

‘Your Majesty’ bowed the sole Minister of State who was in attendance to the Monarch at Balmoral Castle during Easter Court.

‘Yes, what is it?’ she asked – not at all impressed that her private conversation had been interrupted.

‘Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I need to inform you that we have just had a confirmed report, over the wire, that the President of the United States of America… Mr Abraham Lincoln… has died from bullet wounds he received from an assassination attempt.

USA - For the Love of Courtney...

2009-05-10T21:59:00.000-07:00

A woman in a gold dress walked rather dramatically toward the front of the room. Several people moved uncomfortably in their seats and the man talking on the stage paused because he did not know what to do...

More about this later...

Once again, I found myself sitting in the departure lounge of Melbourne International Airport waiting to board QANTAS Flight 93. This time, I was heading for America. I don’t understand people who say they don’t enjoy airports or waiting around for a plane. I relish those few hours. I head to the bookstore and purchase magazines and catch up on what’s going on in the world. I bought TIME, Harper’s, National Geographic and Comos – current events, journal, geography and science – in that order. I sat down to read...

I have been so flat out since the launch of 209 A Story in Melbourne, that I had not prepared my paper for the Panel at Book Soup in Los Angeles set for Monday 4th May, 2009. It is not that I was uninterested in doing so – it was just lack of time and being so overly tired, that anything I may have written, I would have thrown immediately into the bin. I left this one up to the Gods – and they (thankfully) answered my question... what would I talk about?

I was asked to be part of a panel of Australian Authors by the American Australian Association. We: David Francis, Brian Castro and myself, were asked to share with participants how we work through the creative process when writing a novel. Also, to discuss our experiences in bringing an Australian-published novel to the U.S. market. Let me tell you from the outset – it is very difficult...

I leaned back in my seat at Gate 22 and opened to an article in the Harper’s Magazine – it was titled – ‘The Last Book Party’ – there before me was the answer... so well written and summarised my entire frustration with the publishing world. It read of how publishing has changed so much of the past ten years and how since time began in the publishing world – it has always been faced with the ‘relentlessness of the apocalypse’. By the time I had finished the article – I had, in my mind, prepared what I was going to say in support of my mission. A first time independently published writer from Australia who wanted to crack the American market...

The woman began making funny gestures with her hands and although she did not say a word to anyone, it was her antics that captured everyone’s attention.

I arrived in Los Angeles three hours before I left Melbourne... still makes me smile. I was driven to the Beverly Hilton and the sun was shining in all its glory. I am fortunate that this was not my first visit to Los Angeles. I had been there on a number of occasions – most memorably in 1993 – when I was Principal Performing Duties at the Jundah School in western Queensland – and we had won the Coles Apples for the Students competition – and our prize was a trip to LA to meet the stars of Beverly Hills 90210 and Aaron and Candy Spelling.

The Sunday was fun because I finally got a chance to visit the JP Getty Museum... the wait was worth it. For almost six hours I wandered the halls of that magnificent centre and then attended a lecture of Selected Short 2009 – A Celebration of the Short Story – Uncharted Territories. I was also able to get out and experience some night life of LA... all bars shut at 2am... interesting!

At 5pm on Monday I left my hotel and walked (YES – something that very few people do in LA!!) along Santa Monica Blvd to San Vicente Blvd and up a very steep hill to Sunset Blvd. I found the location of Book Soup – the legendary Bookstore of the City of Angels and I was taking a photograph of the front of the store when suddenly I froze. There in a window was a picture of... me! It must be up there with one of the strangest experiences of my life... Who was I? What was I doing here? I could do nothing but laugh ... and send a text message to my friends back in Australia to tell them of what I had just seen.

I met with Dan Levek – the representative of the American Australian Association – and the time had come for the Panel Discussion... David Francis spoke followed by Brian Castro – (I was humbled to be in such presence as I had admired their writing for some time.) Then it was my turn...

A woman in a gold dress walked rather dramatically toward the front of the room. Several people moved uncomfortably I paused because I did not know what to do... she looked directly at me... I looked across the room at Dan... and then just as quickly, Courtney Love moved off to my right, took a book from the shelf and started to read it...

As they say ... it can only happen in America.

Have a good week everyone...

Steven

Pix Melbourne Launch 209 15 April 2009

2009-04-28T02:33:00.000-07:00

PIx of Scotland

2009-04-28T00:16:00.001-07:00

Pix of the Events

2009-04-26T00:14:00.000-07:00

Some people have sent me email requesting to see photographs from the Launch Parties of 209 A Story - (both @ Balmoral Castle & at the National Gallery of Victoria) - so this week is going to be minimum text & a collection of photographs...

Also, I am flying to the United States this week, as I have the opportunity to speak at the American Australian Association Author's Panel at the Book Soup in Los Angles. It is alsoa chance to have meetings with several people who are trying to get Michelle Obama to attend the launch of 209 A Story in New York in November... wish me luck. Personally, from my observations and from research, I think she is an exceptional person - not becuase she is the first lady of the USA - she is intelligent, funny, practical and extremely humble in her approach to the role...

Sorry - I will add more later as I need to resize the images.

The Launch Part 2 - Dream a Dream...

2009-04-18T00:11:00.000-07:00

Wednesday afternoon...

My niece sat watching the news on the television and although I could not see the broadcast, I heard someone begin to sing... I had to leave... I was running late!

Wednesday evening...

As several hundred people made the way into the Federation Court of the National Gallery of Victoria, a lone piper, positioned near to the Water Wall played traditional Scottish tunes. They were making their way into an event that could only be described as ‘pretty special’. It was a little after 6:30pm on Wednesday, 15^th April, 2009. Most people did not know one another. Most people were intrigued with the purpose of their invitation to attend. However, everyone knew that the novel being launched was about the only Australian whose body was recovered from the disaster of RMS Titanic: 97 years before... to the day.

Over canapés and fine wine, beer and champagne, the gathering continued to grow in number. With each passing minute, the overwhelming sense of the occasion was becoming more evident. Trevor Jones, the international performing pianist, played on the grand piano.

Much of the discussion between those present was about a man who stopped and chatted briefly with many of the invited guests.

Dressed in a fine black dinner suit, Steven Rafter looked uncomfortable for a few moments as the crowd continued to fill Federation Court. Across the room, he recognised someone he knew. It was Professor Jaynie Anderson, Chair of the International Committee for the History of Art and on staff at the University of Melbourne. Dressed in red, she was here to deliver an address about the Banquet of Cleopatra. The connection would present itself shortly.

More about this later...

This week has been ‘exceptional’ for many reasons. Firstly, my family made their way to Melbourne from interstate and from overseas to attend the Australian launch of 209 A Story. I had seen most of them in Scotland for the launch at Balmoral but it was equally exciting seeing them in Melbourne. They were staying the Grand Hyatt on Exhibition Street and I went in to see them soon after their arrival on Wednesday morning.

Earlier, KT had arrived back from her European adventure (following the UK launch) and she was in much better condition than I thought she would be. I’d cleaned the flat as best I could and we sat and tried to cram the last three weeks into three hours. We laughed a lot about the events of Europe and how much we all packed into our time there. Much mention was made of the chocolates from Charbonnel et Walker on Old Bond Street and also of Chalmer’s Pies in Ballater – not to mention the dancing until 3am at the Hen Hooouse...

Jax, Renee and Pieter had all called to check I was ok and offer support. Another friend, Peter sent me a one word text message... ‘Breathe!’

As I raced from the hotel room, I heard this singing and saw the stunned faces of various members of my family who were now seated with my niece and watching the television.

When the bell sounded to enter ‘in unto’ the Great Hall of the National Gallery, a polite murmur sounded. The crowd, now well feed, took their seats and waited for this unusual launch to commence. Any late comers would need to stand as no seats remained empty.

The large gathering remained silent as they realised they were witnessing something that was indeed, ‘pretty special’. The Author took to the stage...

‘Although I am flattered by the recent report in the Belfast Telegraph about me being, ‘A Best Selling Australian Author’, I have to admit this is not the case... Yet!’

The crowd laughed and applauded.

He thanked the people for attending and he then introduced the guest speaker.

Professor Jaynie Anderson, gave an address about the Banquet of Cleopatra. The magnificent painting by Tiepolo, which is housed in the National Gallery of Victoria, plays an important part within the storyline of ‘209 A Story’. Her wit and love of the painting is shared by the author who moved to Melbourne in 1998 after a successful teaching career in Queensland and in Europe.

The intrigue of the plot covers a period up to the present day and takes place in Australia, Scotland, South Africa, England, Russia and France. It is reported to be the first novel in print to make reference to the new American President and Mrs Obama. A first edition copy of the novel has been sent to the White House. ‘It is a book of firsts,’ said Professor Anderson. ‘It is not only the first novel in print to make reference to the new American President, but also, it is the first novel to include reference to the Banquet of Cleopatra and also includes direct, well researched, reference to Australian indigenous Rock Art. The novel is ‘exceptional’.’

The last comment I heard as I left the room was... ‘WOW!’ I would try and find out what was going on – and why the segment on the news had drawn in, what appeared to be, my entire family... I just remember thinking in the lift on the way down from the 33^rd floor... I really did like the singing that I had just heard; it was ethereal.

Several of his friends read passages from the novel, much to the approval of the appreciative audience. One person commented, ‘This is so Steven, he has these launches of his novel in these incredible settings but keeps it real by inviting his friends to read parts of the story to a huge crowd. He is like that.’

Following the formal part of the evening, I then had the opportunity to sign many, MANY copies of 209 A Story (yeah!). As those who had purchased the novel moved forward, I thanked them for attending and listened to their stories about why they turned up, their good wishes... and anything else they had to say. I could not believe how long people had queued to have their novel signed. For the first time, I saw the true responsibility I had regarding my own dream of '209 A Story'... Who was I? I am the self appointed person with the responsibility to have Arthur McCrae’s life recognised by his fellow Australians... his life... as an important Australian link to RMS Titanic. I only hope I have done him proud.

After almost an hour and a half of signing copies of the novel, I was exhausted. The night had been a huge success and I was so humbled by the entire experience. The ‘209 A Story’ banners were packed up, the lights of the National Gallery of Victoria were turned off, and we all went home. I could not sleep. With my ipod playing in my ears, I walked for a couple of hours to wind down.

The following day before they left Melbourne, my niece was trying to answer the question I had just posed. I asked her what was on the television that had everyone so captivated. When she told me I immediately went to YouTube on my iphone and entered the name ‘Susan Boyle’ to find out what had happened... the message was – ‘this video does not currently support iphone’. It was not until today, Saturday, that I finally was able to hit the site.

As I watched I began to cry. I cried because I was so incredibly tired. I cried because her voice was so beautiful and strong. I cried because I realised how, that one brief moment the previous day – her singing had burned into my memory. I cried because I understood how she felt.

I can only make comment about the information I have now seen about her on the web. She was expressing how I was feeling as I walked to wind down. For so many years she has believed in who she is but she had never been given an audience to appreciate what she had to offer... until now!

She dreamed her dream...

and she never gave it up...

and unlike the final lyrics

of the song she sung –

her new life now...

has just begun!

It is a product of what is happening with the world in this time of economic doom and gloom. It is the human spirit glowing brighter than ever – because the ‘Good Time Crowd’ must display constraint ( ie they learned from the French Revolution). It is a time when someone from an obscure situation can take on the world... and dare to dream...

Have a nice week everyone...

Cheers Steven

Link to news article in UK newspaper about the event at Balmoral

http://www.deesidepiper.co.uk/news/Balmoral-hosts-a-novel-occasion.5111995.jp

Link to news article in the UK newspaper about the visit to Belfast

http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/news/local-national/titanic-author-visits-shiprsquos-birthplace-14267416.html

The Launch Part 1

2009-04-12T02:16:00.001-07:00

Sometimes one gets tired. Sometimes one feels a tad overwhelmed due to the pressures of everyday life... and then, sometimes, one feels like the bulldozer that just ran over them is sounding its reversing lights and you are now struggling to get out of the way!
Over the past month I have been unable to write this blog. I had to make a decision on urgency V importance and while my blog was my Sunday ‘thing’ – and incredibly important to me, not once has there been an opportunity to write (the blog) until now...
So, I thought it may be helpful and interesting to those who, over the past several years, have supported me through this blog, to divide this epic tale of THE WORLD LAUNCH OF 209 A STORY into three parts... by doing so it will allow for coffee breaks, sleep and time to read the novel...
Part 1...
In early March I was sitting on a plane at Melbourne International Airport. Departing Australia for Europe was an exciting time.
It had finally arrived.
After five years of researching and writing, deadlines whooshing past, meeting hundreds of people who were happy to discuss their ‘stories’ relating to the RMS Titanic, Faberge, international Art Auctions, Russia, South Africa, England, France, Scotland... and of course Arthur McCrae, I found myself, once again, alone. For the first time in a long time, no one who was seated around me knew about my novel. They had not heard of 209 A Story, they did not have information to tell me or an antidote to supply. The story was complete.
It was as if I had been transported back, in time, to early 2004, when I stood at the gates of Sydney Grammar School (where Arthur had been a student) and at a point in my own journey when I made the decision to follow my dream.
I buckled up, listened to airhost explain the safety procedures and was reviewing my program for the trip. From the moment I arrived into London, I was busy (lucky I was spending a few days with friends first). It was timed to the last minute. Cars were organised, meetings proposed, a multitude of plane flights. I would be on a two hour turn-a-round from 8am until 10pm... the schedule was gruelling... to say the least. I reached into my bag... I had been advised by a medical friend that taking a sleeping tablet on the trip would not make me addicted to drugs and I sat and deliberated about the use of sleep enhances.
The baby with the couple next to me began to cry...
And cry...
And cry...
And scream...
And cry...
When we finally landed in Singapore, and after an hour delay, I did not much care whether I would become addicted to the sleeping tablets. All I knew, at that stage, was when I re-boarded the plane I needed to sleep. I was due to meet with friends at Westminster Abbey for Sunday morning service at 10am.
The engines sounded and we were off again. I sat next to a couple who had been out in Sydney visiting their daughter. Off to my left I heard it again...
I looked at my schedule and the bottle of pills... the conversation with my medical friend came back to me... ‘Try just taking half’ – and I quote... ‘Knowing you Steven, you will be out in about 2 minutes and you will have a lovely sleep and wake up just before touch down.’
I unscrewed the lid, cut one in half and swallowed...
It was fabulous...
The kid in the background was not as noisy – (gone was thought of a letter of complaint to the airline). The seat was suddenly more comfortable than I initially thought when I had sat down...
When was that exactly?
I was feeling fine...
I adjusted my pillow.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..................
‘Excuse me!’ I heard loudly in my ear.
My eyes would not open.
‘My wife has just fainted’ he said.
My eyes still would not open. My pulse began to quicken.
‘Please can you get up? I have called the steward!’ with a sense of urgency.
WHAT???????????
Was I dreaming? Had these prescribed tablets done something bad to me? Where am I? My lips felt dry. What is that humming noise? Hmmmm? WHO FAINTED? Oh my novel... Hmmm I think I will go back to sleep.
One push of Steven by frantic husband changed that plan!
The sleeping tablet had indeed worked but now there was a real life emergency and I was somewhere between la la land and OMG!!!!
As I tried to get up– I realised I had forgotten to take off my seatbelt... OH GOD! I was at a point where the real world collided head on with my ‘lovely sleep’!
Where am I again?
Where are my legs?
I then find myself lying face down in the aisle... and thinking how comfortable I was again... I closed my eyes...
‘Sir, you will be alright!’ said the voice.
‘No... I am fine’ I thought to myself. Or did I say it? My mind rolled over... I am sure there was someone... a lady... who bought the book... got on the plane and was heading to Russia to meet friends... but I think she is taking tablets...
The shaking of my shoulders by the beefy air steward bought me back to the real world...
I opened my eyes...
‘Oh God! What now?’ I remember thinking.
‘NO!’ I heard someone yell... ‘Not him – it’s my wife!’
‘Oh... him again,’ I thought. ‘I hope his wife is going to be ok?’
I really do not remember much of what happened after that but I do remember getting the giggles when I saw this huge green oxygen cylinder move past my face and three people ‘walking like Egyptians’.
Finally in London on the morning 16th March I was ready for what was about to occur.
It went something like this....
London, London, London – meet Mark, coffee at St Martin’s in the Field, National Gallery, Oceanic House, South Molton Street, Regent Street, THE APPLE STORE!!!, Meet up with my Parents, Old Boys Reunion, SLEEP, breakfast at the Wolseley with my immediate family, meetings all day, Dinner at the Chicago Rib Shack in Knightsbridge, Buckingham Palace, SLEEP – run from the Ritz along Knightsbridge on to Kensington Palace, along my favourite street in London... to Bayswater Road to Park Lane then back to the hotel, shower, meet some of the Australian contingent (8 there who flew in for the launch) for coffee at Cafe Nero, +1 ring-in Brit, Bond Street, Chocolates at Charbonnel et Walker, Viewing of an auction at Sotheby’s, A&F photo, Symthsons, TOUR LONDON at ridiculous pace... the Texas Embassy for lunch, race off from group - meeting in the afternoon, catch up with them again later, coffee again at St Martin’s, photo shoot outside the Abbey, The Houses of Parliament, dinner at McDonald’s near the London Eye, meet another Australian Contingent at pub in Victoria, walk back to Ritz through Green Park, BEST SLEEP, breakfast in the Ritz Dining Room, Apsley House to meet my dear friend – (thinking of you now!! Be strong u have my novel to read!!!), Hyde Park to see the two monuments I have wanted to see for quite some time; to Queen Caroline of Brunswick and to Diana, Princess of Wales, to Heathrow, BA flight to Aberdeen, 6 people miss their flight (no Names mentioned here!!! tee hee), Mark driving from London to Scotland, can't wait, hire car to Balmoral with Jax, Shannon & Chris, wake up some very unhappy person, Driving around the Estate in the dark trying to find the cottage, looming in the dark... WOW big Castle Dead Ahead! more people arrive midnight... (the six who missed their flight!), Joan enters our life... SLEEP, Ballater, Pies at Chalmers (OMG!!), it’s my Birthday! Back to have another PIE!, distillery tour, reading, birthday party at the School House on the Balmoral Estate (OMG 5pooonds, A Toast camera flash), Braemar, nice bridge, wow it’s cold, more people arrive, Crathie Church, OMG I LOST MY CAMERA... car, silence, anxious... THANK GOD MY CAMERA IS FOUND ta M, The Americans are here, Quiet Night spent at Balmoral, Today is THE DAY for the Launch of 209 A Story, wow more people arrive, I depart the cottage looking in to the forest of trees and hear the lone piper playing... wow – chills... not due to cold... people lost and have missed planes to Scotland... I felt sad for them, but feeling nice about the launch as it is the first time friends, spanning 20 years of my life, were together, speech, signing, BIG NIGHT in Ballater at the Hen Hooose..., SLEEP, shock, Balmoral – Edinburgh, Arthur’s Seat, Night out with Laura and Leona, FlyB flight Edinburgh- Southampton, Titanic Exhibition – book presentation and signing, Night out on the Edge, extra day in Southampton to get autograph of Millvina Dean, train from Southampton-London via Winchester, out to Heathrow Air Lingus London-Belfast, wow it’s still cold, dinner out with Laura’s parents, W5, Exhibition: Titanic Designed and Built in Belfast, signing, presentation of novel, stand on Nomadic – WOWWWWW!, train to Dublin, (afternoon off), Hotel mix up... sorted... HOW MUCH FUN WAS DUBLIN?, early start National Gallery of Ireland, ‘The Taking of Christ’ by Caravaggio and ‘A Woman Writing a Letter with her Maidservant’ by Vermeer (long time waiting to see these) – buy card for Allyson, Trinity College, Book of Kells, signing, Connolly Station, in-depth discussion with fellow passenger about Islam and stem cell research at Queen’s College, Back to Belfast, Titanic Monument Belfast, Ferris Wheel (I am beginning to think EVERY place I went to – apart form Balmoral has one of these!), Flight Belfast- London.... yep... London, London, London... signing, meeting, meeting, meeting, Hatchard’s, Can’t remember what happened on Saturday, Yes I can... V&A Museum for the Tsar Exhibtion, The Albert Hall, Handel's Messiah, Dinner, SLEEP, Morning Service at the Chapel Royal, St James’s Palace, to Windsor for a run of the Great Walk (tee hee), Fantastic Run... trees planted in 'about' 1680... stop to take in the view... another plane over Windsor... reminds me of a joke... almost missed train at Windsor - Oh Look - another Ferris Wheel... stop in Slough... meet Pauline on the train and am impressed with her publishing idea... GO GIRL!, Hit the pubs off Leicester Square/Soho with mate John, back to the Ritz, my washing has arrived... BEYOND WORDS TRYING TO EXPLAIN THIS... SLEEP, go to Kensington Palace to drop off copy of novel. Buy some souvenirs of London, go and stand outside 16 South Molten Street, shed a couple of tears because I was once again... alone... Meeting, tube to Heathrow... homeward bound...
End of Part 1

209 A Story - A Short Review

2009-03-03T00:54:00.000-08:00

So you think the Australian Working Holiday Maker is a relatively new concept?

Think again! Think again! Think again! Think again! Think again!

In 1904, when Arthur Gordon McCrae departed Australia for Africa, he commenced an eight year journey that was full of adventure. He was an engineer, who worked at a mine in Africa, before moving on to Siberia in Russia. In April of 1912, he bordered RMS Titanic. His story has remained largely untold... until now with the launch of 209 A Story by Steven Rafter.

A dazzling and vibrant storyline, in a most suspenseful way, this novel follows the path of the young Australian as he matures into adulthood and ultimately reaches his destiny. The chapters of his journey are interspersed with the lives of three other Characters (Dabria Livingstone, Charlotte Rominscov, and Edward Parfett) and spanning a period of over one hundred and fifty years. How they are all connected is the true brilliance behind 209 A Story.

From the natural beauty of Sydney Harbour and the hash landscape of southern Africa to the Royal Courts of Europe, and modern day Manhattan, 209 A Story will delight you and sadden you; its moments are truly precious. As the reader falls into the novel, the desire to find out what is happening next increases dramatically.

Why is Arthur carrying a diplomatic package? Is the Countess Charlotte Rominscov who you think she is? Why is Dabria Livingstone being chased through the city of New York? And finally, what has all this to do with a soldier on reconnaissance in northern France during WWI?

209 A Story by Steven Rafter.

www.209astory.com

A Provost, A President and a Big Smile...

2009-02-24T03:10:00.000-08:00

The last week has been one of surprise and more surprise...

I have been amazed at the way the 'machine' of 209 A Story has taken on a life of it's own. The several members of staff, namely the Personal Assistant, Renee and the Public Relations Person, Katie, have both been busy with email and letters, and phone calls. All to make the launch of the novel at Balmoral Castle a success.

It was one acceptance that made me smile.

More about this later...

At the ripe old age of 18, I was in the UK for school; as an exchange student. I was in Hampshire at one of the old schools in the country. It was certainly different to school in Australia and it is where I learned all the words to 'I Vow to Thee My Country'!

Like school in Australia, life revolved around the sound of bells. To commence the day, to go to breakfast, to start school, for lunch, to finish school, to commence sport, for showers, for dinner, for prep and finally for lights out.

I was in England on the Gap Scheme. At that stage it was organised by the Australia-Britain Society and one of the patons was Sir Zelman Cowen. He was Provost of Oriel College at Oxford. I received an invitation to visit the College and meet with the Provost. Sir Zelman had been the former Governor-General of Australia.

I found Oxford to be one of the most incredible places in the world. It is beautiful (see picture above of a very young me!) Although I was impressionable at the time, the College and the town left the most amazing mark on me. Two of my prized processions are gifts I was given while there. One was a navy blue and white flannel scraf by Eden and Ravenscroft. It was an Oriel College scarf. The other was a pewter ink-well with the the motto of the University on the lid.

When I finally met with Sir Zelman, I found him to be a very charming man and at the time, I really did not realise what a true gentleman he was. We discussed various things and my time in the United Kingdom. I met up with him in Melbourne a few years back and although now into his 90's, that same charm is still evident. I feel very honoured to have met him.

Surprise #1 A supporter of the 209 A Story in the United States sent to me an email to let me know that he had done some research on the ISBN number of my novel. He informed me that 209 A Story is the first novel in print to make reference to the new American President. A copy of the novel is being sent to the archives of the White House. I was proud.

Surprise #2 Like the Australia-Britain Society, there is also an American-Australian Association. During the 'invitation period' when invites are being extended to various VIP's to attend the launch, an email arrived into the office. Renee called me in a fluster. The American-Australian Association were asking me if I would be interested in attending a Writer's Forum in Los Angeles in May. I was proud.

Surprise #3 In 209 A Story, I have based one of the characters (Aberton Chartres-Hume) on the Oxford students I met at Oriel College- one in particular. This week I had word that Sir Derek Morris, the current Provost of Oriel College, Oxford had accepted the invitation to attend the launch at Balmoral. I was really proud... and I smiled.

Have a nice week everyone.

Steven

Three Angels and a Koala named Sam... what a week!

2009-02-15T03:51:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, when stress levels run high, you actually don’t have to look too hard to find something to make one smile. I thought of three friends of mine. I once was their boss and we have tried over the years to remain in contact. They are a bit like Charlie’s Angels (or I should I call them ‘Steven’s Angels’?). We caught up for dinner at Docklands in Melbourne. The meal was fabulous and the conversation flowed easily. We each took turns at telling one another of our last few months and there was much talk about 209 A Story and how many people know about the novel.

It was after dinner when something occurred that made me laugh like I had not laughed in a long, long time. I drove the ‘Angels’ out to Moonee Ponds to collect their individual vehicles and I stopped at the service station to put fuel in the car. For 11pm, I was surprised at how the place was packed – with cars on every pump.

More about this later…

The bushfires here in Victoria have been nothing less then horrific. The hundreds of email I have received from all over the world and the many text messages that buzzed my new iphone at silly o’clock (and at other times during the night and day) were a constant reminder to me that people do care. The images that went around the world were of tired fire fighters, desperate people who had lost everything, individuals who recounted amazing stories of survival and thousands of ‘spots’ where houses (and towns) once stood.

Looking beyond this – there were other things that happened this week that put a different slant on the situation.

As most of you would be aware, my love for the City of Melbourne is beyond my love for any other place on the planet. After being fortunate enough to have travelled extensively (over many years), I made the decision to settle here ten years ago. It is now my home town. During this week it was so easy to see what was on everyone’s mind and why I am so proud of the place. People who were once strangers openly talked to one another... on trams and at coffee shops and in the street. Everything I overheard was based around ‘the situation’ and generally it turned to ways in which they were able to help those affected.

It made me very happy and I was proud to call myself a Melbournian.

After the initial shock of the bushfires there were glimmers of goodness trying to make its way through the sense of despair. Firstly, there was the photograph of Sam the Koala. Like many others to recieve the image via email... I just cried! Secondly, on Thursday night the sky across Melbourne was so thick with smoke that it was quite difficult to walk home. I got to the Prince’s Bridge crossing the Yarra and stood for a while and tried to make out the MCG and the Royal Botanic Garden. Suddenly, a gust of wind blew and there before me, in the sky, was the most amazing sight. It was the moon. No ordinary moon. It was a full moon. It was a moon that appeared like one enormous, luminous ruby. It was magical. I know I was not the only person who saw it. It was like a gift to the people of Victoria because we would have been the only ones to have seen it like this. It was a hard week for all.

It was quite ironic that the week of the greatest natural disaster in the history of Australia was the same week as www.209astory.com coming on-line. I am sure the sense of helplessness of those who remained behind or those who had survived the disaster of RMS Titanic in 1912 was similar to the thoughts of many Melbourians this past week.

So… I finished filling the car with fuel and took out my wallet to go and pay for the petrol. I was thinking about the dinner, my friends and how excited I am about the up-and-coming launch of 209 A Story. I walked toward the glass doors and they did not open automatically so I leaned across and pressed the button beside the door…

It was not an ‘entry’ button!

The entire place plunged into darkness! The emergency lighting came on and sirens began basting their woooop… woooop sounds! Most people jumped. The people inside the store could not get out… and those of us outside could not get in. The grumpy man behind the console looked even grumpier and it took him a good minute or so to turn the system off. I am pleased I could not hear what he said because the look he shot me... and the words being mouthed really appeared quite unkind and not at all sympathetic to my situation. At that point I wanted the world to swallow me up because EVERYONE knew exactly who had set off the alarm.

Then I began to laugh… because during dinner one of the Angels said to me… 'Rafter, are you sure you are ready for fame of 209 A Story?'

Have a good week everyone…

Steven

ps - the website is up and if you would like to attend one of the launch parties in the UK, Australia or in the USA - please go to www.209astory.com - you can also purchase your copy of the novel. Special First Print Edition almost sold out!

A Respect For Victoria... my home.

2009-02-09T23:25:00.000-08:00

As a mark of respect to the fire fighters, the volunteers and the victims of the most horrific natural disaster in the history of Australia, I have not entered a blog for this week. The stories of their heroic acts and also the horrific tales of this situtation make anything I would have to write seem inappropriate. Have a safe week. Steven

Australia Day 2009 & Our Sense of Adventure...

2009-01-31T15:43:00.000-08:00

***A warning - this week's blog is a tad patriotic!***

During the week I was at a party (BBQ… very informal... as Australians do)… and someone handed me a can of 'UDL'. It was one of the ‘alcho-pops’ that has recently attracted an additional tax, because the government believe that the additional cost will deter people from binge drinking! (hmmmm) Believe me, the weather this week in the most amazing city on the planet would not have stopped anyone from drinking (alcoholic beverage or not)… no matter how much it cost! The temperature hit 45.6 degrees Celsius (114.08 degree Fahrenheit) on Thursday and the several days either side were not much better. As I opened the drink, I notice a comment on the side of the can… it said ‘Aussie Rule #1’. As I read it I smiled…

More about this later…

Monday, 26^th January was Australia Day for 2009. Yearly, it is a public holiday for the entire country. So, I went to the Australian Open Tennis at Rod Laver Arena on the banks of the Yarra River. To me… being an Australian is an honour beyond belief. In all my travels around the world, and in the many fascinating things I have seen in other countries and cultures, I am so proud when someone asks me where I am from. I live in the most multicultural city in the country and I love it. I have friends from many nationalities, from many faiths and even a new friend (the one who passed me the UDL can) who told me, with a huge smile on her face, that she was a ‘FOB’ (I had no idea what she was talking about until I was told later in the week that it meant… ‘Fresh Off the Boat’).

When I was 17 and headed off to Europe for a year (for school at a boarding school in Winchester, England) - I naively thought I was somewhat of a pioneer of the ‘Working Holiday Club’. I was on my ‘GAP YEAR’ before heading to University. It has only been since writing 209 A Story that I realised how wrong I was…

Back in 1904, when Arthur Gordon McCrae completed his studies in Engineering at the University of Sydney and left for Africa to take a position as an engineer for a gold mine, he was young man (merely a child of the newly formed Commonwealth of Australia). During my research of him, and while writing 209 A Story, I discovered that he was the original founder of ‘Working Holiday Club’ for Australians. My impression is that he was a man with a sense of adventure and wonderment in the far corners of the earth… It was something that he had in common with the Aussies of today who find themselves abroad; working and travelling. As I discovered more and more about him, I found myself thinking of my own travels. Often I wonder if he had similar feelings. Obviously not the same thing but there is nothing in the world like the experience of travelling fourteen hours on a flight… and then having to wait another four hours to catch yet another five-hour flight to another city before (finally) arriving at your destination. It is something Australians do on a regular basis to join the ‘club’. How different it would have been for Arthur… weeks on boats, long train journeys, horse rides and even travelling by sleigh. He travelled from Africa to England and then on to Russia (where he worked as a Deputy Mine Manger in Siberia)… Finally, he boarded RMS Titanic in Southampton on 10^th April 1912…

Moreover, I take so much pride in seeing Aussie’s do well on the sporting field, or discovering something new in the field of medical research, or achieving amazing things as volunteer workers, or in the arts. More often then not, these achievements are unsung. They are not brashly splashed across the media. That is not our way. We are a small population (in comparison with most other countries), but it is the determination to achieve which drives us all.

I read the side of the can to the small gathering - 'Aussie Rule #1'… ‘If you are hosting a la-de-da dinner with all the trimmings, like cutlery, you may wish to decant your UDL into a glass.’ Everyone laughed because it was funny. We don’t really care if the way we are portrayed to the world is as a bunch of people who are uncouth. We know we are not. We are just different.

My new friend called her self a ‘FOB’ because she realised that this country is not solely about formalities… Being Australian is about having a laugh at ourselves (ie Kath & Kim). It is about being fair to other people and about giving things a go. It is about not taking life so seriously. We... collectively... see ‘life is dance not a dirge’. Of course, no country is without its problems: socially, economically, environmentally etc, but this is where I believe WE are different. I think our ability to 'achieve' has much to do with our vast open spaces, our weather, our geographic isolation from the rest of the world (ie Down Under) and, of course… (just like Arthur McCrae one hundred years ago) … it is our sense of adventure.

Have a nice week everyone,

Peace
Steven x

Informal or Formal? Stupid or Wiser? U decide...

2009-01-24T16:45:00.000-08:00

Leaving the IGA on late Wednesday night, I realised I had left my phone at work. I was on the way back to retrieve it when I was stopped in the street by this man who was approximately the same age as me. The look on his face was anxious. Taking my earphone from my ears I asked him if he was ok? He told me that his name was, George, and he needed to know the name of the street which was running adjacent to Collins. He lifted his hand and pointed. Speaking further, he then went on to tell me that he had run out of petrol on ‘Spencer Street’ and now had also locked his keys in the car, along with his wallet, ipod... and how he felt like an idiot.
More about George later...
This week my dealings with ‘209 A Story’ have been most interesting. Everything appears to be coming together. At moments I sigh and wonder if it is really happening. My head goes into a spin on what to do first because the list is growing longer and longer. This week there was a flood of email from the publishers, the web design team were busy and requiring various details about ‘209 A Story’ (for the 1st February launch of the web site), the lists of invites to launches were being composed, the invites printed and the final decision was to made about the venue for the Australian launch of the novel.
It was during one such interaction with two members of the ‘209 Team’ that I felt stuck between the proverbial rock and a hard place. It all revolved around something rather silly... ready for this? It was the overwhelmingly difficult but rather important decision about which photograph they would use on the homepage of www.209astory.com . The uneasiness I felt was due to the photograph in question being an image of me! I discussed this with my friend, Victoria, at work over lunch yesterday...
The look on the face of George turned to embarrassment as he explained that he was from a town on the Mornington Peninsular. I told him that ‘I am sure’ it would ‘be fine’ and then asked how I could assist further. He asked if I knew of a petrol station around the area. He became almost despondent when I told him that the closest was in North Melbourne at the top of King St. He then suddenly realised he had no money due to his wallet being locked in the car... What a drama it was all becoming for him...
George appeared completely frustrated. Lifting up his mobile phone he said, ‘If I give you my mobile phone, would you lend me the money to get the petrol... and as soon I get back into the car I will give you the money back.’ I could hardly take the only thing he had, so I was most insistent that I did not want his mobile phone and laughed it off. I handed him $40. I ended up with the mobile phone... which was switched off. I said I would go back to the office to get my phone and meet him up on the corner of Collins and Spencer...
Victoria asked me what the problem was with the decision about the photograph. I advised the situation was a clash of opinions between two people. One believed the photograph was too informal and the other thought it most suitable. Where one confirmed that it would be a hit, the other believed it was projecting the wrong image. One thought the colour in the image was vibrant and (guess what?) the other said that it should have been a black and white image. She then went on for the next twenty minutes (without pausing!) telling me about how she appreciated what they were suggesting but confrimed that she did believe that the world is ready for a NEW IMAGE OF AN AUTHOR! She then changed the subject...
I arrived back at my desk, picked up my phone, and sawI had a message from one of the ‘photographic critics’ reinforcing their opinion... yet again! After a lengthy reply, I left the building to find my unfortunate 'friend'. Arriving on the corner... I looked up and down the street but could not find the car. I gather he had moved it. For twenty minutes I stood waiting for him to return. I thought I would turn his phone on just in case he was trying to contact his phone. I looked down, it lit up... it read... ‘INSERT SIM CARD!’
It was Victoria’s final comments which got to me... ‘Did you hear about this conperson who is telling people he has run out of petrol and getting them to pay him $30 for a can and then he runs off with the money?’ and then she added, ‘How can people be so gullible? They must be really ‘stupid’ to fall for something like that.’
It was on the tip of my tongue to say... ‘it was $40 not $30!’ - but I just smiled and thought... People like George will always be who they are because they spend their energy tricking people and being deceptive (not only to others but to themselves). He appears to have very little consciousness about his actions and how they affect people they con. He just does not care; that is his life. The ‘stupid’ people are having book launches... and realising their dreams!
Penultimately, it’s life in the big city! ‘You got to take the good with the bad’. Hopefully, it all evens out- you learn lessons and, even more hopeful, one does not become bitter but becomes that little bit wiser.
Have a wise week everyone
Steven
ps... You'll have to wait and see the decision for the photograph on www.209astory.com ... but regardless Victoria was write... the world is ready for a new image of an author.

Really Look At It... Acknowledge It... Deal With It... AND MOVE ON!

2009-01-16T15:10:00.000-08:00

(This week... I have changed the names in this blog to protect myself from any possible litigation... and any hit-men!)

The conversation went something like this...

My Friend... Hey Steven Rafter – how are you?
Myself... Hey Dan, I have not seen u for so long – how are you?
My Friend... Yeah, all good... but are you ok?
Myself... Yeah of course... why?
My Friend... Well, u have lost so much weight and u look tired...
Myself... Thanks Dan...

Meeting up with my mate Dan on Collins Street on Monday was the catalyst for my ‘shock of the week’. I have not seen him (or his wife, Claire) for almost two years. They got married in Sydney and moved to the USA for twelve months. Through one way or another, we had lost contact... that is until now!
Dan is a psychologist and his wife is a lawyer. I originally met them at a function at the National Gallery of Victoria in 2006. They are certainly an interesting couple. Every time I have gone to dinner with them I have always felt like a ping pong ball at full speed... at a finals tournament somewhere in the Chinese Capital – being belted back and forward between them as they vie for what is more ‘just’... the parameters of the law (in Claire’s case) or, the open ended wonderment of the mind (Dan’s world).
The only problem I have with this is they always appear to be in ‘help’ mode with me. (re: initial catch up conversation above). This has never been at my behest. It has been at their own undertaking... BUT... I must write... I appreciate their words because they are good people who care... they are my friends.
Dan went on to say that he had heard about ‘209 A Story’ (through a mutual friend) and ‘they’ were so pleased to hear that I was ‘finally’ being published. When I said goodbye, Dan suggested that we catch up for dinner later in the week. I proudly told him that I was working in the afternoons... at my new job. He said he would send me an email...
As good as his word, I arrived home that night to find an email from Dan (and Claire)... They were both full of praise for the blog and for the impending launch of ‘209 A Story’. However, they both wrote of their ‘concern’... Dan- because he thought I was ‘overwhelmed’ with everything... and Claire – because of what Dan had told her.
Obviously, I had looked far worse than I thought! My mirror was lying to me...
I declined their offer to dinner on Friday night but I thanked ‘them’ for their kind words. Also, in the return email, I sent my new mobile number and wrote that I was happy to catch up early next week.
The following morning my phone rang... it was Dan. As the conversation went on (with Claire grabbing the phone several times) I suddenly felt as though I was sitting in his rooms and being analysed for everything I said. I had made comment about my new job, my fantastic social life, the excitement of learning more and more about the world of publishing... and finally, about someone who had really disturbed me... side note ...(See, I come from a world where I have rarely found people to be unkind. I was bought up with a philosophy of treating people how you wish to be treated. I try and see the very best in everyone. I find this attitude to life makes me very happy on a daily basis. I can count on one hand the number of people who have rocked my world to the extent, where I would lose sleep, churn their association with me over and over in my mind and in some instances... do completely irrational things. I have found it once in a former boss, once in a relationship ‘thing’, once in a school buddy and once in a work colleague... I am not going to say which one this particular person was, but I will say that we were involved in a situation where we had each other’s phone numbers, knew each other’s addresses and all that type of thing.)
I continued talking with Dan (and Claire) on the phone.

The conversation went like this...

My Friend...

Steven, you have always been so nice to so many, many people... and those people think a lot of you.
Myself... Thank you, Dan.
My Friend... But, I do think you should make a list of how you feel about that person, really look at it... acknowledge it... deal with it... and move on.
Myself... Thank you Dan...
My Friend... Write it in an email and send it to me. You, Claire and I can talk about it when we catch up next week.
Myself... Thank you Dan... No, I really am fine!

The following day – I cannot work out what unsettled me more... the knowledge that this person was continuing to upset me so much OR that I was talking to a psychologist about it! All the while, in the back of my mind, I was wondering what I would write if I did as he suggested... and if I did so... would it actually work... ie ‘really look at it... acknowledge it... deal with it... and move on.’
Arriving home late that night, (almost midnight)... I opened a word document and started typing...

I opened a flood gate!

The contents of my mind and heart poured out and into my computer page... about everything! All the things that had disturbed me regarding this person. Holy Nelly... it went on for pages! I wrote down everything that was horrible about the situation in which I found myself. I wrote of why I was so disturbed and why I was so incredibly sad. I even wrote my own evaluation of that person and how they had to work out their own life. That they really did not give a crap about what I thought. I wrote about how destructive it was to the people who cared about them. It went on and on and on and on... Inevitably, it did answer my question... it ended with a realisation that (in my own mind if I was to move on with it) - I would need to hand their part of the problem back to them and they needed to deal with it and live with it; regardless what they think of me now. The way they treated me was so unacceptable, I had allowed it to happen because of who I am and for that I take accountibility.

I must admit, by the end of my thesis... I felt much better.
So... I thought further about what Dan had suggested to me. Instead of sending the entire document (because I had visions of being stuck for 2 weeks with them discussing every point I wrote...) I abridged the pages into a couple of paragraphs – cut and pasted it into an email to Dan (and Clarie)... I hit ‘send’.
In that instant my entire world fell in on me...
I was trembling when I went to my ‘sent items’ and saw that I had actually sent the email to the person about whom I was writing and NOT AT ALL to Dan (and Claire)! Embarrassment commenced to boil in my toes and travelled upwards until my head hurt so much that I thought I was going to pass out with what I had just done!!!
As I lay in bed early that morning unable to sleep, I realised that even though I never wanted to open my email again... I had actually done what Dan had suggested... I wrote it down... I really looked at it... I acknowledged it... I dealt with it... and now... I HAVE MOVED ON.
Have a good week everyone,
Cheers
Steven

My Ya Hee, My Ya Har... My Ya Week that Was! Good and Bad...

2009-01-10T13:27:00.001-08:00

After lunch, and while sitting in on a training session Thursday afternoon, I heard a song being played on the Instructor's iphone. I listened to the tune for several minutes. The words began hitting me and the rap song began to dance round and round in my head. It gave to me an answer to my week that had been presenting itself as subtly as Mt Krakatau... on a bad day.

I would have to put this past week down to being one of the most interesting weeks’ of my entire life. It was just all wrong... on so many levels... and, just as absurdly, it was so right. It was ‘GOOD’ and ‘BAD’... multiplied several times... with a kick. Everything appeared to be magnified; all the feelings, experiences, opportunities, phone calls, comments, emails, emotions. If something was really good this week... it was ridiculously so. If something was not so go... it affected me profoundly. The equilibrium to the last seven days was nonexistent. Well... not until I heard that song.

I got up from my desk at the back of the room and went to ask him what it was. I went home that night down loaded it and have listened to it at least three thousand times.

More about this later...

(BAD...) On Monday I went to the showroom where I had first seen the Kompressor (re: last week’s blog). It had been shipped that day and now all that remained was an empty space.

(GOOD) So I sat in the Fitzroy Garden and read a chapter from ’Northern Lights’ – the novel by Philip Pullman that I had been given for Christmas. I was up to the part of the story where Lyra had escaped from Mrs Coulter with her daemon and the aletiometer and had joined the Gyptians in the Fen. I was lost in the story and was seated in the most magnificent setting; it was if the entire text had come to life around me. Beautifully coloured butterflies nestled on the steel arms of the chair, the sun was shining, birds flew overhead and tweeted as if to say ‘hello’, and the multitude of summer flowers were bright and sweet smelling.

(Good) Throughout the week I received hundreds of email from people all over the world who had read the blog last Sunday. They all made the most interesting comments (and observations). More than I had ever received previous. Particular a woman from Mexico... who likes my blog so much that she wished to link here website to it...

(Good) I commenced my new job on Wednesday and I have never been in a position that I have enjoyed so much. I am sure that most of you will relate to being the new person in town. You meet so many people and you take in so much information and everyone seems so very nice... (only to be confronted several weeks later that you have forgotten almost everyone’s name, your brain fried due to information overload, and everyone who appeared so nice initially... is not as nice as you first thought... and they hate their job) (BAD!). Well – this situation appears different – almost everyone to whom I have spoken over the past three days informs me that they LOVE their job and one particular person (her name is Flint) advised me that the people with whom I am working are as consistent with their friendliness on day one as they have been over the past three or four years since she first arrived.

Flint was my multiplied work experience for the week... (I know we will become very good friends) – she has a wicked sense of humour and I learned that she is into ‘spinning’ and she told me in detail of how people have developed yarns from soy and from plastics for sustainability... oh there was also the story about her Uncle whom the family call ‘Lucky Len the Lovely Lama Farmer’ (guess what he does for a living?) (Good... with a ha ha!)

I stubbed my toe on the end of the bed Tuesday night and grimaced in pain. I was tired from the lack of sleep during the previous night that I just got into bed and tried to cope with the pain of it all. Wednesday morning I woke to find blood stained sheets and a much bruised big toe. (BAD... and painful!), I burned the toast twice (BAD and smelly), Harry knocked a bottle of wine from the kitchen counter (the bottle did not belong to me!!) (BAD and expensive and messy), I received a horrible email from a man in the United States of America claiming that I was spamming the internet with information about '209 A Story' (BAD and yucky... and a complete lie!). I lost my rail card (BAD and inconvenient), was abused by someone when I ran across the road to the station (BAD and uncalled for), and I also forgot my umbrella (BAD in Melbourne!)

THEN... I received a copy of the cover of ‘209 A Story’. There is very little else to which I can compare, or explain, the feelings I had when I saw the cover of the book (with the title and my name). It is the culmination of almost four years of work and a life-time of interest... (VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, GOOD! :-)

I was then bought back to 'my week that was' and I realised that had no one with whom to share my joy (BAD and sad!). I had moved away from my friends in South Yarra and I was overwhelmed with a staggering sense of loneliness. I tried to console myself with the thought of it being a truly ‘personal’ experience... and the start of something amazing... (it really didn’t work... BAD and delusional) – I was just lucky that I had my new job to go to the next day.

I met up with my friend Ben Smith for coffee- (he is an amazing fashion designer here in Melbourne). See... even my friends this week were good and bad... he gave me his opinion of my obcession with the Kompressor and then we laughed alot about the individual paths that this year of 2009 are taking... My friend KT - a person whom I love very, very much expressed her concern that I had been ignoring people (ie my friends) for too long and I needed to stop and see what was really important in my life... (btw thanks for that slap! x)

So... I go to the front of the room and asked Brendan for the name of the song... and he replied... It’s IT feat Rhianna and the name of the song is... ‘Live Your Life’!’ While standing there, the chorus started and this is what I heard... ‘You’re gonna be a shining star, fancy clothes, fancy cars... And then you’ll see, you’re gonna go far. Cause everyone knows, who you are... So... LIVE YOUR LIFE...’ but it was the next line I heard that really got to me... ‘What you need to do is to be thankful for the life you’ve got (you know what I’m saying?)... Stop looking at what you aint got and be thankful what you do got!’

Have a good (and bad) week everyone... tee hee
Cheers
Steven

The 'K' word, an Obsession, A Lesson and a Better Tomorrow...

2009-01-03T13:13:00.000-08:00

Several weeks before Christmas, I had been for a run in the CBD of Melbourne and I happened to stop briefly and turned to my left...

That is when I saw it!

I almost lost my breath. I was in love, instantly! From first observation it was sleek by design, top of the range with all the bells of whistles. I took a closer look. My heart was racing. Everything about it was right: the colour, the style, the interior. It was the Kompressor. I have been in the market for a new car for quite some time (since I sold my last one to pay for my ridiculously high hotel bill at the Waldorf Astoria in New York when I was writing part of 209 A Story.) In that instant my life was changed.

So... I made a decision. Still wearing my sweaty running shorts and singlet, I decided to take it for a test drive. It was amazing. It was everything I thought it would be. All my initial impressions of it being smooth and comfortable were proven to be correct.

Like most males... I became obsessed by it. In my mind it was ‘my’ Kompressor.

I researched it on the internet. I spoke to my friends about it. I dreamed about it. Every few days I went to see it again. I learned that this particular model of (Mercedes-Benz SLK-class) Kompressor had only been in Australia for a few months – hence the reason I had not seen it before. It had been modified in Europe for the Australian conditions.

It became like a drug...

When I would wake up it was the first thing on my mind. I would smile as I fell to sleep when I would think about how beautiful the Kompressor was to me. Over the next few weeks, I drove it several times and each time I returned to my apartment in South Yarra, I would find myself in two minds. There was the rational mind of knowing that it too expensive and an unnecessary purchase at this point in my life... and then the irrational mind... that this vehicle was the most incredibly sexy thing I have ever driven. I was hooked.

More about this later...

With the year of 2009 being only a few days old, I am excited about what the next few months hold for the life of Steven Owen Rafter. Moving forward with the lists (re last blog entry) I made the decision to get a job. (I have spent the last year living on small tins of tuna at home, travelling the world and drinking too many cups of coffee at my favourite coffee shops.) I got on the internet applied for several positions, telephoned the recruitment agency and attended two interviews. I am happy to report that I commence my new role this coming Wednesday. This is my reality. I am back in the workforce and staying grounded and very much looking forward it.

All the while, like the proverbial wolf at the door, ‘my’ Kompressor was on my mind. I was seeing if I could afford it. It would be so cool driving it to work. I pictured myself travelling down the Great Ocean Road during the summer, hugging the corners and escaping the city for the tranquillity of the Giant Sequoia Forest near Apollo Bay.

Before I start my new job, I have been spending my days in contact with my PA, completing spreadsheets for my business manager, in contact with the web designers and also, organising guest lists for the launch. I have been running and going to my weekly boxing classes. I also began house sitting for a friend who is South Africa. I have been flat out... but there has been more going on than I thought.

A friend (who is an avid reader) called me up to let me know that he had ‘googled me’ (yes, it made me laugh) and that he saw ‘209 A Story’ and ‘Steven Rafter’ were being discussed in writer’s and book forums in various places around the world. He also told me that over 3000 people had read my last blog. (Btw... thank you all for your email. I think I have replied to them all now)... However, what he said next really did stop me in my tracks. He told me that he had seen ‘my’ Kompressor being test driven by someone else! :-(

So, as my new year begins with sooooo many exciting things happening, I am learning many lessons and refer to my ‘reality list’ constantly to keep me grounded.

And now, early on this sunny, Sunday morning... I smile... because... to get to my new job I am catching Public Transport. I found out that ‘my’ Kompressor is being shipped back to Europe. I could not afford it. And this was my lesson... Even though we don’t always get what we want in life, learning the lesson from the disappointments often make the way ahead clearer for a better tomorrow.

Have a nice week everyone.

Cheers
Steven

2009... The First Day of the Year of '209 A Story'

2008-12-31T23:30:00.000-08:00

Thursday, 1st January, 2009.

Many years ago, I found myself in St George's Chapel of Windsor Castle and reading an inscription attached to the wall near to the tomb of King George VI. I had attended morning service in the chapel earlier and had taken some time to have a look around the historic Royal Peculiar. Like most services in the Protestant faith anywhere in the world, it attracted a small gathering of parishioners and on that morning, one 'ring-in' Australian. Over the years, I have always made a visit to Windsor part of every trip to the United Kingdom. It is one of my favourite places in the world and I enjoy taking the time to walk the five kilometres of the Long Walk, past ancient oaks, and up to Snow Hill and the famous Copper Horse statue.
As I read the verse, I thought about the words and how eloquently they had been written and the important message behind their meaning. Apparently, it had been a favourite passage of the King, and by the time I had read the last line, I had been moved beyond words.

More about this later...

As 2009 commences and the launch of '209 A Story' is only weeks away, I have had to take on a Personal Assistant to help me with the enormous workload that occurs when a novel goes into print. Along with Renee Harris (my new PA), I now have a Business Manager, a Publisher, A Publicist, An Accountant, A Web Team, A Lawyer and a representative in Queensland and another in New South Wales. Their counsel is necessary. What I am finding is the further we progress forward, it is their professionalism and advice that is paramount to the goal of publishing a successful novel.
I recently had one such important conversation with my publicist. Jillian sat me down and we talked about the coming year and how important it was to differentiate between the ideals of becoming a famous author and the cold, hard reality of being published for the first time. YES... of course I want to sell a million copies of the novel before this time next year. But, the reality of possibilities is requiring more thought. I walked away with much, about which, I needed to ponder. It is one thing to have a dream of success and another to deal with it in a sensible and mature way. Like many other aspiring authors, the dream can quickly get away from you if one does not see it for what it truly is. Publishing and marketing a novel is part of a business. The writing of the story is where the fantasy should remain. The business side is what happens after the book is complete. By setting the goals incorrectly it can lead to uncertainty (and I believe much unhappiness).
Sooooooo... over the last couple of weeks I have thought much about what is important in the life of Steven Owen Rafter and I set to work creating two lists of things that were important. The first was a list of things that need to be done and I prioritised them in order of urgency versus importance.
There was also another list.
It was a list of things which are the ‘reality’ to my life. They are the things which will protect me from a bad review, or the inevitable negativity that comes with putting yourself out there. What this new year shall bring, I do not know but now I know that I am ready.

And, this is what I have learned...

When ‘209 A Story’ is launched at Balmoral Castle on the evening of Saturday, 21st March, 2009, it is part of the business side of the book. Of course there will be the accomplishment of having my novel being available for people to read (and hopefully for them to enjoy!). And naturally, I will take pride in it. But my true accomplishment was the process itself. It was the past four and a half years of the ‘209 A Story’ journey. What is truly important to me is the list of my ‘reality’ – my family, my relationships with friends and my job. Anything that comes after this is purely cream on the cake.

... I found the inscription from the wall on a card in the gift shop within the chapel and I framed it and it has, for the past twenty-two years, sat on the table next to my bed... and this is what it reads...

I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year
'Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.'

And he replied, 'Go into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God
That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way!'

Have a Happy New Year everyone.

Cheers
Steven

ps - the photograph (above) was taken on one of my trips to Windsor and is outside St George's Chapel.

Let it all begin...

2008-11-30T14:37:00.000-08:00

Firstly, I would like thank everyone for your emails... I know that it has been some time since I have written my blog... however... I have spent the past two months finalising everything for '209 A Story' to go into print!

This week the media begins in Australia... I have a radio interview, being part of a writer's forum and also a movie premier... wish me luck...

Keep Happy

Cheers Steven

Fact or Fiction, An Email and Degrees of Separation

2008-09-06T16:13:00.001-07:00

During this week, as the editing has been progressing toward its inevitable conclusion, I received an email that stopped me in my tracks.

More about this later...

The original idea I had regarding my attempts at writing a book was to combine my interest in RMS Titanic and the unique situation of one, Arthur Gordon McCrae, an Australian whose story has intrigued me for many, many years. It was going to be a factual account of events and could be used as a reference for those who, like me, had interest in the fact that Arthur McCrae was the only Australian whose body was recovered form the Atlantic eight days after the disaster in April, 1912.

When I set off from the gates of Sydney Grammar on my journey it became obvious to me, very early on, that to merely write a serious account of Arthur would be to miss the entire point of his character. From the research I undertook, his sense of adventure became more and more appealing to me, and like my own journey, he was a young man filled with excitement of other lands and with interest in people and other cultures. At that point I made the decision to write a novel. A novel of intrigue and suspense that would do justice to that adventurous spirit and, I hope, respect to him as an individual.

My love of writing originated with one teacher I had during my years at school. Her name was Mrs Rintel and she gave to me a love of words and an understanding of the importance of literature on society and the powerful influence it can have... both for the positive and negative. She cared about her students and had a profound affect on my own ability to teach. She coached me on her own time and since leaving school - as often is the case, former students loose contact as they make their own way in the world. From time to time you wonder how they are and what they are up to and if they ever realise how important an impact they have had on your own views of the world and your place within it.

That was twenty years ago...

I cannot begin to write of how I felt when, following the publication in the 'Omnibus' (above), which contained an article about '209 A Story', I received an email from my former teacher congratulating me on my achievements thus far. I was incredibly happy to have received word from her... but... there was more to this email than even I thought possible and it is the pure essence of what I have tried to include in my writing.

Mrs Rintel informed me of something that surprised me beyond belief and proved to me that my decision to write the novel was a correct one.

In 1841, there was a baby boy born on a ship bound for Australia from England. The baby's mother died following the birth and the father of the baby did not have a secure position nor a place to live upon his arrival in the colony of Victoria. Georgiana McCrae (Arthur's Grandmother) offered the bereaved man, to take care of the child until he was established. Accepting the offer, this child then lived with the McCrae's until he was fourteen years of age. Through my previous research I was aware of this being the situation.

The email I received informed me that this boy was in actual fact, Mrs Rintel's great-great-grandfather.

So, now as I start the final proof reading before publication, I am settled in my decision...

Have a nice week.

Cheers

Steven