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Chris Guy

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Featured Book
The Dance of a Lifetime
by Karin Fleischhaker-Griffin

A Woman must use her psychic powers in order to protect herself from the evils of the world...  
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Thrice self-published author Chris Guy invites all authors and would be authors to join his personal newsletter. Find out how I publish my books on a shoestring budget and receive useful tips on marketing your finished product. Your newsletter will be full of free articles and updates and segments from my outback adventure stories, my last novel which looks at the increasing tragedy of suicide very differently and my in progress work of a totally different nature. Enter your email address and click 'sign me up!'

Newsletter Dated: 3/12/2001 2:53:41 PM

Subject: Latest Latest response To Self Publishing System and Books. Excerpts from It's In The Bag

"Being a published author (a privilege I paid for) I was initially skeptical that any system could deliver what was promised for the price. After my experiences it seemed just to good to be true. It wasn’t. I was very impressed. It delivered all it promised and inspired me to drag my last manuscript from the closet and get to work. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened for those of us with a story to tell."
Bruce Dimmock. Fax (07) 3349 5482. Author of "A Hospital Affair." "The Shoeshop Lady" and others coming soon.

“Great system for new writers. Minimum runs, never before available, are what makes this system ideal for new authors. The quality of the finished books was superb insuring they don’t suffer from the sometimes ‘self-published’ syndrome that others do.”
Pauline Reckentin. Author, Founder and coordinator of the Petrie Writers Group. QLD.

What do other think of the books?

“Hi Chris. Just a quick note to say that I have read your book Outback Justice and found it to be extremely captivating. This is not the sort of book I would have normally read buy I thought I would scan the first few pages. Well, I became increasingly intrigued and found I couldn’t put it down until finished. I am looking forward to reading the sequel and hope it is just as good. Well done.”
Marea Caterer.

“Chris, don’t know whether to thank you or curse you. Since I gave my husband your first 2 books, he has remained glued in his chair. I’ve never seen him so taken with a book before. He rants and raves about your great imagination and gave me a message to pass on – forget about building fences and get writing – he’s waiting.”

Mary and Les. Coorparoo. QLD

“A bloody good read mate – well done!”

Lionel Johnson. (Man of few words) ‘Windemere’ Winton QLD.

******************IT'S IN THE BAG.**********************

Father Frost watched him on the bag with concern. He prayed there would come a time when Jacob would rip the scab from the festering wound and purge it clean so that it could begin to heal. He knew Jacob's relationship with his father was part of it. But there was more. Deep down in some dark and hidden recess there was something else which gnawed at him continually. A hatred which would one day consume and destroy him. Maybe one day he would face it and come to see that it possessed no where near the power that he allowed it. Jacob slept late and as usual on the day of a fight he would take a short run and a brief session in the gym. He appeared to have overcome what ever it was which had upset him as he set off on his run. His focussed determined gaze indicating already he was in the ring. He set off at an easy pace in the opposite direction to his childhood home and memories skirting the city proper and along the once familiar streets. He passed the ovals where he had played football and on impulse ran across the same turf he had scored the winning try on that day which seemed now so long ago. He remembered the feeling’s he had experienced knowing Natasha was watching him. He ran around the campus where they had sat and argued back and forth and where he had visualised her naked in bed. He smiled as he ran. He had certainly not been disappointed. What a match up. What a strange twist of fate had bought them together. So many highs and lows. What a strange world it was. Him, almost a national champion in a sport he had given away forever. He felt no great elation or even trepidation at what lay ahead that night. He could box and always there seemed to be something that helped him. He never felt the blows, though sometimes their effects, but never the pain. Maybe soon he would quit. Winning gave him no great pleasure. He would have a child. They would have a child. That would be the greatest thing of all. Just to work with Father Frost and the boys and be a father. A good one. Maybe Natasha could do her modelling. Like he had needed his boxing, he sensed she needed to do that. He would win tonight. He would win for them all. The sooner he won the sooner he could retire. He would win for Father Frost, for the baby and of course for Natasha. Natasha - it sounded so strange as he thought of her and heard her name. A few more paces he heard it again. "Natasha the smasher, wife of the great fighter gets her gear off. That's right. See it here, naked as a J bird in our paper. That's right folks. He's fighting tonight and she's right here starkers in the paper. Natasha the smasher...” Jacob walked slowly and fearfully towards the young boy doing a brisk trade selling papers to the commuters who had left the last train. He reached out and a paper was thrust into his hand. The photo stabbed him to the core and he stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the pregnant body of his wife.
"Hey mister...Hey Mister! That'll be $1.50."
Absently Jacob reached for his wallet which he didn't have.
"Sorry" was all he said as he turned with the paper still in front of his eyes and walked off, oblivious to the curses from those he bumped. The yells of the paper boy were still ringing in his ears as he slumped down on the seat. The vision of his wife blurred through his tears as he fought to understand, just an inkling of understanding which could help him forgive her for this betrayal. She must have known before he left. Why now? Why at all? They didn't need the money. There was nothing he could think of to stem the flow of anger which was building. He thought back to her days, topless, behind the bar. He had never liked that much but she needed the money for modelling school. Then the nude paintings. Most of those were nothing more than hazy unreal interludes and any way her friend was so blatantly gay that it never seemed to matter. Certainly he never drooled as the men in the bar had done. But why this? So pointless. So tasteless. Didn't she care at all about his feelings? He tried desperately to ignore the word that was hammering on his brain. Whore. Natasha was a whore. Just the same as his real mother. Men marry their mothers and how true it was he thought. Born of a whore and marry a whore. He ran all the way back, the voices slowly receding in his head as the blood pounded painfully in his brain. He was drenched in sweat as he made his way to the make shift gym. He threw the paper on the floor and without bothering to glove up he pounded the bag mercilessly. Father Frost followed him in picking up the paper and sat quietly reading before he walked to the back of the bag and held it.
"Who's the bag Jacob? Who's the bag now?"
His punches stopped but the glazed eyes refused to meet those of Father Frost's.
With a sudden strong push Father Frost shoved the bag hard catching Jacob unaware and knocking him to the floor. Jacob looked up, his eyes clear and surprised.
"That was a cheap shot."
"Yes it was Jacob and I apologise. You still haven't answered my question. Who's the bag now?"
"Is that what this is all about? Who’s the bag now. You read the paper. You saw the picture. Who the hell do you think the bag is? Can't you read!"
"Yes I can read. I read a story about a girl, a young woman carrying a baby and she's angry. She's angry because she thinks her husband stole the limelight she needs for reasons of her own. Reasons she perhaps has never discussed with him. Reasons she doesn't understand herself. She's angry and she blames him."
"That's bullshit! She can have all the limelight she craves. After the baby is born. That's all. After the baby is born. I'll look after it. She can do whatever she wants to do. After she has the baby. Perhaps you don't understand. She has a baby. She has a husband who loves her. She has a father for her baby."
"Even so she still has herself. Maybe the baby is not so important to her."
"You're right about that part. Oh yeah, you got that part right. She wanted to get rid of it. It interfered with her modelling. It didn't suit her to have a baby right now.”
"And why didn't she get rid of it?"
"Are you kidding? You're a God damned priest and you ask me a question like that. Well I'll tell you why anyway. I told her she can't. Plain and simple as that. She will have the baby. End of story."
"Why Jacob? Why is it so wrong for Natasha to want to be rid of her baby?"
"It just is. You don't get rid of babies just because you don't want them or they don't suit what you want to do. You just don't do it. Good people don't anyway."
"But lots of woman do. Everyday. It happens all around the world."
"Well they shouldn't. That's all. They just shouldn't."
"What about the bad people Jacob? What about them? The prostitutes and the whores of the world. What about them Jacob? That's the bag Jacob isn't it? The whores and the prostitutes, Jacob. Like Natasha Jacob. Is Natasha the whore? What about your mother Jacob? Your real mother. What about her?"
The naked look of hatred confirmed what Father Frost thought. “Your mother was a whore Jacob. Here she is. The bag is all the whores and prostitutes Jacob who dump their kids or get them cut from their bodies. Like your mother."
He saw the look of fury as Jacob rose to his feet. He unhitched the bag and threw it on the floor.
"Save your energy. You'll need it need it later."
Father Frost turned to leave and saw the tears and pain on Jacob's face.
"Your hatred is the bag Jacob. The bag is all that hatred you have inside. Hatred that will destroy you if you can't let it go. That's all the bag is Jacob. Just your cancerous hate. A hate which you can't share. Go and rest. I'll pray for you. If you can't forgive you can't love. And if you can't love you can only hate."

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3/12/2001 2:53:41 PM

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