TheTtruffle War goes truffle hunting.

I had a nice surprise when a truffle farmer called Alf from 
www.truffleandwine.com.au    emailed me and said:
Dear Hettie,

A friend of mine was in Port Douglas recently and purchased “The Truffle War” from you, which she gave to me as a gift as I am involved in the truffle business.

I usually have several books on the go at any one time, but rarely finish any. They are usually boring books about the global financial crisis or the changes in social attitudes that are sending us to hell in a hand basket.

I read your book over the past 2 days and couldn’t put it down. I loved the great story line and the happy endings. Too many of us in the truffle industry take life far too seriously.

I would like to take some of your “Truffle War" books as gifts for our clients. We also have a Truffle restaurant and cellar door at our farm at Manjimup in WA and I would like to sell your book in the cellar door.

What a lovely letter and Alf wants to sell my book as well. What a great end to the year.

Thanks Alf of Truffleandwine.

lexicon The Truffle war

LEXICON the vocabulary of a particular language
My New humorous novel The Truffle War has quite a few new words.

SHROOPED
SQUITCHY
LOMPED
TREACLING
KERBOBBLING
PUFFLE
SHUGGLED
TROMPED
FRUMPED 
WOMP

If you can't find  WORD make one up! Works for me. 

snippet of The Truffle War

He had been quietly cultivating a friendship with Iris all day on the dig, which in reality meant giving her dreamy looks and sighing a lot. Now he felt his persuasive personality had paid off.

“Oh, hello Iris.” David’s larynx bunched up like a tangle of rubber bands in his throat.

“Hello you.” Iris snuggled into her large scarf and woolly hat. “I thought you might like some hot soup.” She produced a thermos of soup from her shoulder bag.

“Soup.” David tried to get his tongue working.

“Yes, hot soup. We could share if you like?”

“Share.” David croaked.

“Shall I help you with that?” Iris took the chair from his grasp. “Shall we go?” David might have read the manual on spotting a criminal in a crowd, but he didn’t have a clue when it came to spotting love, whereas Iris Woo could.

The couple set up camp at the edge of the dig and David offered his chair to Iris. She sat down and poured the hot soup in to plastic cups.

“It strange how things work out isn’t it?” Iris started the conversation. And then they got talking.

When two people finally get together there is a lot to talk about. The cold didn’t bother them, the wind didn’t seem to bore into their bone marrow and the soup from a plastic cup tasted like ambrosia. Love does that to the uninitiated. To Iris and David it even made the instant coffee taste like the real thing. They passed a good hour and a half chatting about this and that and were just getting started on how they both ‘really’ liked watching that cooking programme on television when a shrill screech stopped all conversation.

“What was that?” Iris whispered grabbing David’s arm.

“Probably just an owl.”

“Oh.” Iris marveled at David’s ornithological knowledge. 

The fourth wall. or what.

In my new work in progress The Truffle War I use the device called the DIRECT ADDRESS.

. It is an acknowledgement of a person, whether a character or the audience. It can occur in dialog, narration, or letters.

In the theatre the fourth wall is when the actor breaks off the action and talks to the audience. 

Some say the direct address takes you out of the story, but in humour it seems to work. I have not  used this device before in my novels to

such a degree. 

The Direct address is a tricky one and I am careful about how I use it, but I think it will work. What do you think?

Here is an example :

The drive into town was a wet and windy one. The dogs had elected to come into the cab with Mona and if ever you have been in the car with a wet dog you will know how quickly Mona wanted to get out into the fresh air. She parked at the supermarket car park bright and early and walked to the only electronic gizmo shop in town.

You know, the sort that sell just about every geegaw and gadget that you never knew existed and once seen, you just know your life won’t be complete without one and while you’re at it throw one in for my cousin.

Falon’s electronics went in for geegaws in a big way. They had battery powered fly catches. Fans that attached to your hat. Solar panels that attached to just about anything and world radios that were made in some out of the world place and couldn’t pick up lint, never mind a radio station. Mona walked inside and a pimply youth came over,

The truffle war snippet

These days her gate was always shut. No strangers were welcome, no hawkers given the time of day and no pigs allowed to wander past the fence line. Well, only one pig actually. A very large pig. A humongous pig and Mona's best friend, confidant and faithful companion.

Marmalade ran full pelt, (no mean feat) to greet the Landrover. She squealed in delight and rubbed her flank against the iron railings of the gate.

“Out of the way darling.” Mona opened the latch and pushed. Marmalade pushed back, a game they played every time Mona came home. The Rover on the property, the gate shut, the dogs ready for some fun and Mona said,

“Get ready Marmalade.” The pig pricked up its ears. This was her cue. She snorted and turned to race the car to the garage. When she was just 10kg, she was as fast as a whippet. Now Mona gave her a good head start, but at 300kg Marmalade had a hard time standing still, let alone running. The Landrover crawled in first gear as the pig trotted. The dogs had raced on ahead and already forgotten the game. Marmalade was a stayer. She hated to come second and Mona never disappointed her. She made it to the garage door first and turned to watch the car pull up.

“Ok, you win.” Mona pulled out a Turkish delight from the glove compartment of the car and flourished it for winner. “Wait. Wait.” She took the wrapper off, lest the pig eat the whole lot and fed it to her in bits. Those bits hardly touched the sides on the way down.

“Off you go.” Mona collected her bag and went inside. The pig trotted to the front porch with the best view of the valley and plopped itself down on its settee, which used to be a three seater, but now after 300 kg of pig resembled a broken bean bag. There is just so much punishment a bit of furniture from Ikea can stand.

The Truffle war

My new Work in Progress is coming along 1,000 words at a time.
The humour comes from the red / green/ and every bloody colour of the rainbow tape that comes with a hole in the ground and the secrets to be kept.

The Truffle War: excerpt

 Having a convict in the family is akin to being related to royalty. The bigger the crime the more kudos one obtains. Mona Blyte had kudos up to her eyeballs.
Erasmus Blyte, the family saga went, was a thief, a scoundrel, and a thoroughly incorrigible fellow, or so the judge that sentenced him to transportation thought.
His crime for a holiday in Tasmania was to swindle a politician out of his ill gotten gains. It has always been a moot point who was the bigger thief in the transaction.

The Truffle War

I have started my new situation comedy novel.

Some secrets are worth keeping. 22 oak trees, a pig called Marmalade and some dodgy ancestors all conspire to reveal the truth. Just don't tell the tax man.