Pat Ritter. Books

[patritter]

'Captivating OMR Stories' - Page 38:

What’s Next?

I’m a member of Australian Authors Association. This year the association celebrated fifty years of publication; quite a milestone in the field of publishing a magazine to help Australian authors.
In April edition 2013 headlines read ’50 Years Serving Australia’s Literary Creators’. Their first meeting held in 1963 at Federation House, Sydney.
The Association’s office was at the home of Jill Hellyer until 1971 when the Association moved to 252 George Street, Sydney sharing an office with Australian Copyright Council. This sharing provided Australian authors protection through copyright laws for the future.
By 1993 the Association held their first seminar on Electronic Publishing and Writing which if it wasn’t for this establishment of rules made at this seminar our future as Australian authors would’ve been in jeopardy.
Many of the problems of Australian authors arose from ignorance such as Public Lending Rights, for instance, if there were no writers, there would be no publishers and no publishers would mean any bookstores.
After fifty years the Association now asked ‘what’s next?’
No doubt publishing over this last half a century has changed so much for the author. Unless an established publisher published your book there were few other avenues to publish.
Two choices were available - one if the author wanted to go alone and self-publish or second use a vanity publisher.
Along came the digital revolution - digital books. Who would have thought fifty years ago an author could write a book on a computer at his own home, design a cover, copyright the book, obtain a ISBN and publish the book on internet for customers to purchase from around the world by simply selecting the book, make payment, download the book onto a e-reader and read the book.
Imagine if the idea was raised in 1963 at the initial meeting of the Association. Who ever mentioned it would’ve been ed out of the meeting and told never to return.
Digital publication is now the norm. Any author from anywhere in the world can write a book, upload it onto the internet sell their book to any person on the globe. What’s next you may ask?
My role as an author is to write as many books possible in my lifetime to ‘get them out there’ into cyberspace to reach customers wherever they may be.
My goal is to write a novel per year. There has never been a better opportunity for an author than there is at present to publish their writing for circulation throughout the world.
HAVE YOU PURCHASED MY LATEST BOOK 'THE SHEARER'? CLICK HERE: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/395642. GREAT AUSSIE YARN!

[patritter]

'Captivating OMR Stories' - Page 39:

What’s In A Name?

Take my name for instance. Pat Ritter. I’m proud of my name. This wasn’t my name when I grew up. Everyone called me Paddy Ritter and many of my friends since childhood still call me ‘Paddy’ instead of Pat.
Another name bestowed upon me ‘Tex’. How this name came to be - a story in itself. In 1975 I gained my designation as a detective in Queensland Police Service.
Before I arrived at Dalby Criminal Investigation Branch, my personal particulars arrived before I did; my initials T P Ritter. My new boss Detective Sergeant Lionel Bacchi recognised the initial ‘T’ and said, ‘this fellow must be ‘Tex’ and for the remainder of my career spanning twenty years I became ‘Tex’ Ritter.
In real life I became Pat Ritter. When I published my first book, reading the author Pat Ritter looked great! I always use my brand ‘Pat Ritter’. My e-mail address, same as my website, facebook page, and other electronic pages I use.
Pat Ritter is my brand. I’m proud to use this name. I want my brand name ‘Pat Ritter’ to be identified in as many places as possible so if a person reads the name this will trigger them to search for my books.
Each year I attend WriteFest, a writing conference for authors to meet and share their knowledge of writing. At this conference various workshops, one such workshop was ‘brand’. The facilitator expressed how important to create your own ‘brand’
From then on I use my name as a brand. Take the brand ‘Coca-cola’ for instance. This brand since time began and continues to grow because customers identify with the brand. Same as many other brand names which reach their customers to purchase their brand or name.
Imagine if ‘Pat Ritter’ spread throughout the globe as a brand whenever a reader saw the name they’d go to my books and purchase them. Wouldn’t it be wonderful? Daily I work on spreading this brand to all corners of the globe through facebook and other programmes on the internet.
I commence with my website http://www.patritter.com.au to advertise where readers can locate my books. Daily I post a page from a book written and published by me into a group ‘keeping up with my writing’ on facebook, also enter the same page on my author page on facebook and another on a separate website which contains almost one million members.
What’s in a name is important to spread-the-word as a brand as my name ‘Pat Ritter’ so when anyone reads the name they identify with the brand and name.
HAVE YOU READ MY LATEST BOOK 'THE SHEARER'? CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/395642. ENJOY!

[patritter]

Thank you dub great to hear from you again. Here is the page for today: 'Captivating OMR Stories' - Page 40:

When The Boat Comes In

I’m a gambler, gambled on horseracing, bingo, anything which takes my fancy to increase my chances of winning. Over the past couple of years I’ve focused my gambling to win lotto.
When my boat comes in, I’ll tell you my boat will come in as long as I believe the numbers I’ve chosen will fall in any order in one game. Daily my thoughts fill with numbers chosen in the games for these numbers to materialise.
My reason for believing my boat will come in; they appear in my mind, as I stroke them off one at a time from each game. My faith’s strong to believe this will happen.
I not only depend on this belief, I have a game plan. Weekly lotto played each Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Saturday. Each game recorded on the internet showing the number of times each number’s been drawn.
The plan derived: select twelve games to play each time lotto’s drawn. Print all numbers previously played in the particular game to be played.
Starting from game number 1 to 12 I select the number most drawn and play this number in each game. I complete the coupon by selecting the numbers from most drawn to least drawn together with the most drawn number.
Okay you may think I’m stupid. Perhaps you’re right. The old saying: to win – you’ve got to play. I know winning lotto’s a game of chance and with chance you need to possess a ton of luck.
Luck, I understand. To give myself a better chance of winning I believe I could’ve fallen upon the right formula. I only need to win once; odds of winning first prize unimaginable. I would be happy to win first prize once.
Each time I’m checking off the numbers from the drawn games, what surprises me most, the number of times the most favoured number falls. All I need to do continue selecting these numbers from most favoured to least favoured eventually from all of the games I play, my boat will come in. I can’t wait!
HAVE YOU READ MY LATEST BOOK 'THE SHEARER'? HERE IS THE LINK: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/395642.

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'Captivating OMR Stories' - Page 41:

Which Way Is Up

Life at times can be tough. Imagine the mind of a thirteen year old lad whose parents couldn’t live with each other decided to go their separate ways. The lad went with his mother and each fortnight visited his father for the weekend.
Under tough times both the lad and his mother couldn’t cope with city life and moved to the country to try and work their lives into a better position. At first everything appeared to be working until the lad started to develop issues with his teenage years.
His school work became affected, his self-esteem broken because he was unable to make friends easily. His home life and relationship with his mother became strained and difficult to work out between the two parties.
Issue number one: what to do? Issue number two: how to get this teenager back on track to enjoy his life. Issue number three: to create a better loving and working relationship between mother and son.
His mother tried everything from threatening the lad with punishment to taking away his games, television and other important items of importance. Nothing worked.
The lad lacked motivation and desire to succeed. His demeanour – self centred and righteous, only he knew what he wanted and that was to party with so called friends and stay out until hours beyond curfew time taking no responsibility for his actions.
Threatening the lad to live permanently with his father didn’t make any difference. The mother was at the end of her rope and didn’t know what to do. She asked herself, ‘which way is up?’
Should she allow her son to do what he wants and if he got into trouble to get his own way out? Like, give him sufficient rope to hang himself. She honestly didn’t know what to do about this situation.
Her decision to move to the country was to give them both a better chance at life; be closer to family; make new friends; enjoy a new lifestyle. Unfortunately after six months, nothing changed and the thought echoed in the mother’s mind, ‘which way is up?’
Who is responsible for the lad’s behaviour? Either his mother or himself, what can be done to make the situation resolve itself?
His mother has a responsibility to raise her child the best way she knows how with parenting skills she has. On the other hand the teenager is responsible to understand what his mother is going through and to help when he can.
Their situation hit a stalemate or rock bottom in their relationship, the only direction for each of them to consider is: which way is up?
HAVE YOU READ MY LATEST BOOK 'THE SHEARER'? HERE IS THE LINK: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/395642.

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'Captivating OMR Stories' - Page 42:

Why Oh Why

Driving away from Tuesday Writer’s Group Meeting I pushed the radio button on my car for the latest news headlines. Much to my dismay words spoke of two bombs exploding at the finish line of Boston Marathon. Two people dead, one an eight year old boy, over one hundred and thirty people injured.
Why of why should this happen in our world? No Australian injured. My heart went out to those persons who’d suffered or lost their life.
By the time I arrived home to the midday news, television cameras flashed across the screen showing the devastation. One member of the public told a reporter when the noise of the bomb exploded he saw human limbs pass him detached from bodies.
A seventy year old participant male near the finish line, when one of the bombs exploded on the sidewalk near him, the blast so severe the force landed him on the ground.
Why of why would someone want to blow up other people at an annual marathon event? Wasn’t it enough September eleven 2001 when two aeroplanes devastated New York by smashing into their Twin Towers causing destruction beyond belief?
From that moment onwards Governments across the world have attacked Terrorism in an attempt to try and stop the murders of innocent people.
Until this week I thought the authorities were on top of this unnecessary destruction. Now ‘Boston Marathon’ will be forever entrenched into our history.
At time of writing this story no group have admitted responsibility to the bombing. Authorities investigating the type of bomb used; how it was manufactured; any evidence to show who planted the bombs.
Preliminary investigations show the bombs were home made; more likely downloaded from the internet to show what to use to assemble a bomb. Steel ball bearing, nails and gunpowder used to build the bomb to cause most damage when ignited.
Why of why should any human being ever think of constructing and delivering such destruction on the people of the world I’ll never know.
HAVE YOU PURCHASED MY LATEST BOOK 'THE SHEARER'? HERE IS THE LINK: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/395642.

[patritter]

'Captivating OMR Stories' - Page 43:

Why Santa Got The Sack!

Twas the night before Christmas Santa and his elves busily worked through the night to deliver presents to all children on earth depending if they were naughty or nice.
Since time began Santa delivered presents to all children on earth leaving his home at the North Pole guided by his trusted reindeers in time so each child would receive a present on Christmas Day.
This Christmas Eve was no different to any other since he’d began his duty as Santa Claus to deliver presents by midnight. On this particular Christmas Eve he became shocked to hear he no longer could use the words ‘Ho Ho Ho’.
Whose idea to think Santa Claus, a giant among all children on earth, couldn’t again use the words ‘Ho Ho Ho and instead lower his voice to say Ha Ha Ha. This is a disgrace. Complaints made from Australia thought the deep Ho Ho Ho scared the children. He told his reindeer, ‘what should I do? I’ve been Ho Ho Hoing since I can remember.’
Rudolph with his red nose, his lead reindeer called back, ‘does this mean we shouldn’t visit the children in Australia?’
‘No no.’ cried Santa, ‘we visit all children across the globe. They expect us to deliver their present Christmas Eve.’
‘I say we go against Australian tradition and deliver the presents and call out louder Ho Ho Ho.’ Rudolph remarked turning his head in Santa’s direction.
‘What is the world coming to when I can’t call out Ho Ho Ho to my children?’ Santa remarked. ‘Rudolph, go to Australia first and we’ll deliver their presents so I can get this over and done with.’
Rudolph sped through the evening sky heading directly for Australia. After delivering presents to the first home Santa left and called in his loudest voice, ‘Ho Ho Ho’. He wasn’t going to change for anyone and he knew from the time he’d delivered presents each Christmas Eve he always left the home calling a greeting of Ho Ho Ho and not Ha Ha Ha.

IMPORTANT MESSAGE: THIS IS THE FINAL STORY IN THIS BOOK. TO PURCHASE THIS BOOK PLEASE CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/392151. NEW BOOK TOMORROW.

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'The Shearer' - Page 1:

Chapter 1

A sliver of light crept through the crack in the wall and shone directly into Joe’s left eye, startling him awake. His throat felt full of cotton wool, his right eye swollen and unable to open; urine and excrement filled his nostrils. He coughed, tried to sit from a lying position, each muscle in his body tight and sore. His mind filled with wonderment–where am I?
A shearer’s stretcher where he laid, kapok mattress, thin blankets puzzled his mind. He couldn’t open his right eye. His left eye blurry, vision of solid wooden walls; faint light illuminated enough to fill the room. Steel bars positioned a third of the way to the ceiling told him that wherever he was, there was no escape. His head throbbed; fear enveloped his mind.
He pushed up upon one elbow and saw his surroundings through his blurred left eye. Where am I? Echoed through his mind, how did I get here? The stench of vomit, urine, excrement almost made him spew. He slowly swung his legs from the stretcher to the cold wooden floor. Each muscle in his body screamed in pain. His shoes, socks and belt discarded.
He gazed around the room, not much larger than a bush dunny with a steel door and small trap door positioned two thirds of the way toward the top. This is a bloody police cell. What am I doing in a police cell? Remember Joe.
‘You awake Ryan?’ a loud voice from outside echoed. A key turned in a lock. The steel door creaked on its hinges when opened. ‘Here’s your breakfast’. Joe couldn’t make out the voice; his voice sounded Irish with authority.
A steel tray contained a steel plate with two pieces of bread covered with baked beans and a pannikin with steam rising from black tea, filled the tray placed on the floor. ‘Enjoy,’ said the voice as the cell door closed and the key in the lock turned.
Joe moved from the stretcher toward the tray deposited on the floor. He leaned down to pick the tray up, almost falling, regained his footing and returned to the stretcher holding the tray of food on his lap making certain not to spill any of the contents, his mouth felt dry, and his throat, as if a steel rasp had been shoved down his throat through to his stomach. He couldn’t remember when he last ate food. He devoured the bread and baked beans, using his fingers.
He picked up the pannikin of black tea in his right hand lifted the edge to his lips, ouch – hot – my lips are swollen. He slurped the contents. The golden liquid passed through his mouth, down his throat and into his stomach. Satisfaction overcame once his desire for food finished.
He needed to remember how he came to be locked in a police cell and why. His thoughts returned to the past couple of days. I’m certain I live in Cunnamulla. I’ve lived here for the past couple of years. What happened to land me in this cell?
Stench rose from a bucket in the corner almost making Joe choke causing phlegm to rise in his throat. He quickly placed a hand over his mouth and nose to stop the vapour entering his nostrils.
Come on – get back to how I come to be in this cell, he ordered his mind - nothing. I’ll need to wait for someone to come and get me before I know why I’m here. He pondered.
TO PURCHASE THIS BOOK CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/395642