Christmas Earworms: White Wine in the Sun

by Louise Forster

Christmas at our place is focused on the youngest members of the family, ages 10, 5, 3, and 11 months. Way before the big day we make a date to string the fairy lights outside. Never as simple as it sounds, is it? Last year it called for nimble fingers and good eyesight. But we had the perfect solution. Bribe the teenagers into helping us untangle the lights. To make sure there were no distractions, we gathered their phones, put them in a zip-lock bag and hid them in the crisper bin amongst the vegetables … yeah.

After a hearty breakfast we gave them the ball of lights. And they gave us, ‘What the …?’ faces. Pretty soon there was laughter, giggling, elbowing and pointing, because inevitably someone wanted to take a shortcut, which made the untangling even more exasperating; just because it was fun to frustrate those who were too serious. Ignoring urgent suggestions because they were all talking over each other … the mess only worsened.

In the end one of them threw his hands in the air and gave his younger siblings, who were messing about a dirty look, but with an added smirk, showing them they were going to cop it later. Suggestions kept flying out from those that were determined to see this through, despite the fact that by now brains were starting to curdle. ‘No, this bit goes through there, and then that end loops through this gap here, you f-wit …’

I saw my ancient aunt sneak off, a knowing wicked grin on her face as she turned up the volume on Christmas carols. Funnily enough kids started to bob around, adding their own colourful lyrics, and eventually, the untangling lights took a string of grinning, triumphant teenagers down the driveway and back. The fairy lights became a stunning display at night. More so for the adults because we saw them through a haze of great food, wine, and sheer bliss because our family had gathered together, and we were safe. And the littlies thought it was all very magical. And there’s nothing more fulfilling than that.

Our favourite carols:

Chevy Chase, Lampoon Christmas Vacation and Hallelujah because his lights finally work.

Perfect lyrics for Australia. Christmas photo, by John Williamson

How to make Gravy  by Paul Kelly

And the end of the day, White Wine In the Sun by Tim Minchin.

 

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In the sequel to Home Truths, Louise Forster returns to the sleepy country town of Tumble Creek with the story of a cop, a teacher and a mystery that will bring them together—or tear them apart.

Art teacher and occasional life model Sofie Dove wants to know what’s up with Brock Stewart. Everything about the ex SAS soldier turned police officer seems to scream passion—and it’s all for her—but he just won’t express it. All she knows is that he has a past that still keeps him up some nights.

After a semi-trailer crashes through Sofie’s house and the driver disappears into thin air, Brock insists he’s the only one who can keep her safe—but can he, when they can’t seem to trust each other?

While Sofie works on figuring out why this man keeps giving her mixed messages, Brock is determined to find out who’s out to get her—as they both find out why falling in love is a bit like being hit by a truck.

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Hallowe’en Series: A Family Ghost

by Louise Forster

A true story.

Cross my heart … and stuff.

Our robust, Mediterranean brother in-law, Jon, died of pancreatic cancer. A long and excruciatingly painful death.

A loveable man with a huge heart and short fuse. He used to fire up when his immediate family did hot-headed stupid things. He had a strong sense of right and wrong and his siblings, aunts and uncles, even his mother would cop it at times. He protected his wife, my sister in-law, from a lot of the squabbling and no one dared say a word against her. He was always gentle and loveable towards us, his in-laws. He’d greet our girls, arms out wide ready to give them a tight hug with, “G’day Tiger. Who luvs ya baby.” They will always remember him with a soft smile and a warm heart.

After the funeral, we spent few days taking a relaxing drive through country Australia from Melbourne to Northern NSW. We stopped at Dubbo Zoo and other interesting places to give my sister-in-law a well-earned break. Early one morning after our first night home, something roused me; to this day I haven’t a clue how or why it happened. I raised myself up off the pillow, and eyes open, I looked at what I can only describe as a bunch of broken white lines in the form of a person gliding past my side of the bed. There was no soft ghostly-wispy look about this vision. As for me, I wasn’t in the least bit troubled seeing this. I thought, Oh, okay that’s interesting, and then I lay my head down and went back to sleep. I have since wondered whether Jon had the power to simply ease my concern and send me back to sleep. I can’t help it, I have a strong suspicion that he did this to me – or rather for me.

Later that morning as we sat around the table having breakfast with DH’s sister-in-law, I noticed he had a faraway, pensive look, and had become more emotional again. Jon’s cancer and death had hit him hard … he questioned why this loveable bloke whose heart was huge and nothing was ever too much trouble had to suffer such an agonizing death. A man who gave his girls amazing confidence in their abilities; a man who sized up their boyfriends with a ‘do not hurt my nieces’ look. Hoping it would help, I mentioned what had happened to me that morning, and how my scepticism, which bordered on ‘what a load of nonsense ghosts are not real’, was given a good rattling. That what I’d seen that morning was not a figment of my imagination, also that I wasn’t the least bit worried about the whole episode. DH is a disbeliever, the after-life, ghosts, angels, heaven and hell do not exist for him. After he’s listened to my story, his face had a weird ‘I don’t believe this stuff’ quirky grin he gets sometimes. But eyes wavering between scepticism and doubt, he told me that he’d dreamed Jon came to his side of the bed and that he got out of bed to hug him goodbye. DH said he felt him, felt Jon’s arms around him as he felt Jon’s shoulders against his, saying, ‘Goodbye mate.’ And then he woke up.

And now we wonder.

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In the sequel to Home Truths, Louise Forster returns to the sleepy country town of Tumble Creek with the story of a cop, a teacher and a mystery that will bring them together—or tear them apart.

Art teacher and occasional life model Sofie Dove wants to know what’s up with Brock Stewart. Everything about the ex SAS soldier turned police officer seems to scream passion—and it’s all for her—but he just won’t express it. All she knows is that he has a past that still keeps him up some nights.

After a semi-trailer crashes through Sofie’s house and the driver disappears into thin air, Brock insists he’s the only one who can keep her safe—but can he, when they can’t seem to trust each other?

While Sofie works on figuring out why this man keeps giving her mixed messages, Brock is determined to find out who’s out to get her—as they both find out why falling in love is a bit like being hit by a truck.

 

Gateway to Romance: Louise Forster

by Louise Forster

What drew me into the romance genre?

Gosh, where do I start?

I’m quite sure I’ve been a romantic all my life. I lived it, but it never occurred to me that I could write within the genre. And then a friend said I could … and should … so I did.

Music is huge in out extended family. On weekends we’d play out favourite albums, turn up the volume and dance and sing all over the living room. Christopher Cross’s song, ‘Sailing’ was a biggie. If my sister, a fine arts painter was around, she’d would join in. On one occasion our Burmese cat prowled out and bit her in the ankle. Maybe sis’s pitch was off.

I used to sit with my ear to the speakers and sway and quietly sing along to love songs. I don’t press my ear to the speaker anymore, which is probably a good thing. Old favourites will always remain close to my heart, nevertheless I have moved on from bands such as Bread, Deep Purple, and Prince and others. Now I listen to artists such as Gwen Stefani, Pink, Adele and more. Did listening to them draw me into reading and writing romance? Probably, but having said that, anything that has to do with the arts: music, movies, concerts, fine art, fashion … oh yes … and guys on horseback mustering, and guys saving animals; you name it, I’m drawn in and will use my experiences to write. Hold on, not that I’ve had experiences of guys on horseback; but my guy does save animals, birds, reptiles, insects …

Escape published my first book, titled: Finding Elizabeth, where Jack takes Katherine to a Christmas Eve dance. The music flows and he takes her hand for a sensuous, slow dance her across the floor.

Music is a powerful medium. I’m moved by a melody and lyrics, and when they come together, it’s magic. Some can bring me to tears, while others make me swoon or laugh. There are so many writers and singers of brilliant songs way too many to name. But some of the most moving, and romantic lines, I find, are in lyrics. A whole love story is sung in 3minutes 28 seconds. The song by Bread titled ‘IF’, has powerful, touching lyrics that will arouse your emotions in about two minutes forty-three seconds.

Because Chris Isaak comes across as a cheeky bad boy, and many would say Hot, I’ve added an oldie … well, maybe not that old.

 

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you
It’s strange what desire will make foolish people do
I’d never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you
And I’d never dreamed that I’d lose somebody like you

The song below is not in the least bit romantic, but it’s the first time I’ve been able to really listen to the lyrics. Is it because the singer is awesomely hot, his voice, his expressive face or the powerful music and lyrics?

From Jonathan Zalman, a staff editor, runs The Scroll, Tablet’s news blog.

“As one YouTube user put it: “I came for the metal, I got feels.”

People writing songs
That voices never share
And no one dare
Disturb the sound of silence

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In the sequel to Home Truths, Louise Forster returns to the sleepy country town of Tumble Creek with the story of a cop, a teacher and a mystery that will bring them together—or tear them apart.

Art teacher and occasional life model Sofie Dove wants to know what’s up with Brock Stewart. Everything about the ex SAS soldier turned police officer seems to scream passion—and it’s all for her—but he just won’t express it. All she knows is that he has a past that still keeps him up some nights.

After a semi-trailer crashes through Sofie’s house and the driver disappears into thin air, Brock insists he’s the only one who can keep her safe—but can he, when they can’t seem to trust each other?

While Sofie works on figuring out why this man keeps giving her mixed messages, Brock is determined to find out who’s out to get her—as they both find out why falling in love is a bit like being hit by a truck.