Looking for Work….

Looking for Work….

My son, Timothy is looking for work and I suggested he may like to write content for websites. If you need of an incredibly talented writer that can write articles on just about any topic then I’d highly recommend him.

Timothy is half way through a Bachelor of Arts, majoring in performance and writing. For the past couple of months he’s been working on his first novel that is based upon his experiences when he took a “gap year” from studying last year. He plans on publishing the book later this year.

Please contact me here (and I’ll connect you with Tim) if you have need of an excellent writer that is prepared to work on a fixed fee per article basis. Below are a few pages from his novel that feature his unique flare for writing.

 

Extract from the first few pages of Tim's Book

To tell you the truth the story begins on an unremarkable day in June. The chill of the season had not quite set in yet and it could be considered a ‘nice day’ despite the brisk breeze and scattered clouds. Most of the local residents decided to walk about, arms pumping or steadily guiding leashed dogs as if to get in enough exercise before the rains, storms and frosts set in.

In the town there was a broad jetty that separated the town from the water. The Charlotte Corday along with other trawlers moored here year round. The wharf was broad and bare with broken bottles decorating the wooden boards. These remnants of last Saturday night crunched underfoot and slipped between the woodwork to decorate the calm water like stardust.

Peter scanned the docks. He had spent the morning reading and felt like today was the day for success. Whilst patient and optimistic the young man had his concerns when the cash ran low and the meals became plain. He considered himself a guy who could appreciate the simple pleasures, especially those of the flesh. Lately he’d been fantasizing about a medium steak served with pepper sauce, chips and a pint of draught. A feature of the dream would be a pretty girl who stole enough chips to be endearing but not so many to leave Peter starving. She would also insist that they get dessert and wine.

It was around noon when Peter marched up to the skipper who crouched over a steel cable. Peter had blown into the fishing town in the last storm and like any traveller had tried to find work where he could.All previous leads had informed him there was no work to be found in town. They then added th

at there’s “always the fishing boats” like a sorry waiter stating that the restaurant was out of food aside from the complimentary bread rolls.

But that’s what the self-titled vagabond wanted to do of course.

The kid was from the city but whether it was too many storybooks or not enough study Peter decided one day to adventure the lesser-known shires of Australia looking for the oddest of odd jobs. The young bloke looked promising, like the kind of person you would hire on a whim.

Employers would say they could imagine enjoying beers with him twenty-odd years in the future should he stay with their company that long.

Precisely nothing like the characters he would soon be working with.

“So you want to go out on the Charlotte?” grunted Skipper Jonno after the formal request was made, albeit stiffly by Peter. He barely looked up from his work splicing two metal cables together but that brief look assessed a soft one. Jonno prided himself on being able to determine the worth of a man with nothing more than a glance.

“I was told the Charlotte Corday was the hardest ship around”

Skipper grunt-chuckled in amusement, his smile mostly comprised of the discolored gums of a lifelong loyal smoker. He was dirty, bearded and barefoot.

A perfect image of a fisherman.

It was the crazed eyes that gave away his seniority as a skipper. Whether it was too many hours spent scanning the waves or something inherited from birth didn’t particularly matter. Everyone said you had to be nuts or a hopeless case to make a career out of fishing. You either needed to be the son of a fisherman, angry at the world or with no other options.

Skipper’s eyes drilled into the cable he was working on.

Now if this sort of crazy was in the eyes of a woman it might suggest she was the type to divorce a man after decades of marriage.

She calculated her monetary entitlement whilst her husband slept happily in front of the TV every night.

She organized detailed attack plans with a lawyer months before the declaration of war.

She put her clipped toenails in his dinner.

When the court date rolled around the poor bastard would be left sweating in the booth wondering why he married a psychopath whilst his balding lawyer informed him “this is the best we can do unless you relinquish your claim on the dog.”

But this sort crazy in the eyes of a man just past his prime sends the message that he wouldn’t ask anyone to do what he wouldn’t do himself. Following this logic he could calmly assign the most insane of the dangerous tasks. Jonno was the kind to casually tie knots on the bow during a storm cursing the fact that if wasn’t for the drizzle he would be able to smoke a dart. Tales behind fleshy scars and of pub brawls included with any conversation or upon request.

Peter swallowed in anticipation. For a number of days he strolled up and down the jetty calling out for work just like those people down at the fisherman’s co-op had told him to do. It was the opposite of finding a city job. No wanted signs, no collared shirts and certainly no online applications. It was unorthodox, it was foolhardy and it was perfect.

“Right mate you’re on for this trip. We head out tonight at five, remember to bring warm clothes.” Said Skipper Jonno

“No problem see ya then,” Peter replied. There’s a unique type of bafflement experienced when given something you expect to be rejected from. The skipper paused and so Peter turned to leave.

“Hold on a minute”

“Yeah?”

“You have any experience on a trawler before?”

Peter thought it odd that the interview should come after being accepted.

“I did a day’s scalloping trip a weekend ago but that was just for tucker”

“Jake’s boat? He loves those tucker trips,”

“Yeah”

Jonno sucked his teeth and shook his head.

Only idiots worked for nothing. But the only way for idiots to become less than idiots was to sell themselves for nothing.

“The Estonian boys are good blokes aren’t they?” Jonno looked up, dumping the fid on the jetty and wiping his hands on an already greasy rag.

Peter nodded and grinned; the two backpackers were hard workers and even harder drinkers. After his first and last trip the three of them polished off enough vodka to make the usually robotic pair explain in depth the ins and outs of the Estonian military service.

“I take it you don’t get seasick then?”

“I’m a bit off on the first day or two and then I’m all good.” Peter answered. This was perhaps the question he was most prepared for. Everyone in the small town asked it from the savvy bartender at the pub to the most clueless clerk at the information building. It was the number one conversational icebreaker for fishing town residents.

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