I’ve messed up again. I’ve used a story in two of my books incorrectly. The story is of a small group of WWII refugees scared so witless they have paid a guide to flee through freezing, mountainous, and enemy-infested terrain into safer territories. The...
The old fisherman with the summertime job running the rusty merry-go-round on Terrigal Beach taught me how to rig my fishing lines. He reckoned there was only one fishing knot I’d ever need – the locked half-blood knot. While my mates say I’m wasting money...
