About

Spirit Writer

Welcome to Another Realm where you may read about stories from past lives, future times and even before time itself.

Spirit Writer came about from my writing. Mind you, I have been writing for around 40 plus years.(almost all of my life). However, in the last few years I have become more passionate about what I write. That means, most of my writing is very spiritual. I have written some workbooks that are Spiritually Non-Fiction, and heavily based on the work that I have done in the past. My spiritual work is a work of love and devotion that I give to those who ask and always give more than I receive. That being said, I receive many rewards from my work, especially when I see the smiles, and receive the hugs from my clients.

This website of Spirit Writer gives me that opportunity to apply my love through my writing skills. If you take a look at “Sandy’s Books” page, you will see a list of the books I am currently working on. Some time ago, I was blessed to have met a young woman – Nina Amir who wrote the book “How to Blog a Book“. Since reading her blog, I became inspired to do the same with my books. Though I have only just had the opportunity and time to begin that now.

I hope that you will click on the “follow” button on my website and return on a regular basis to read more of my work. From time to time I will also be inviting guest bloggers to write about their own books so you will see a wide variety of books available. If you are interested in being a guest blogger on this site, please feel free to contact me.

Spirit Writer is a Writer of Fiction, Non Fiction and, curiously Fantasy and Vision. You will find some of these posts in our musing pages….Enjoy 🙂

There are stories of Australia, taking you to far flung places and meeting fascinating people. People who live and work on the land, and those who live and breathe the city air. There are miners, and gem hunters, gemmologists and rock hounds. These pages are a continued Work In Progress and will progress as and when there is time.

There are stories of past lives, past deeds, and the future on this planet, or from the distant galaxies and beyond.

No matter where you are right now, we will grow with you and hopefully become your one stop site for reading our many adventures within the four walls of this room.

I will leave  you with my favourite poem – Clancy of The Overflow, by B.J. Patterson

I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better
Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago,
He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,
Just “on spec”, addressed as follows: “Clancy, of The Overflow”.

And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected,
(And I think the same was written in a thumbnail dipped in tar)
‘Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:
“Clancy’s gone to Queensland droving, and we don’t know where he are.”

In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of Clancy
Gone a-droving “down the Cooper” where the western drovers go;
As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,
For the drover’s life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.

And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him
In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,
And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,
And at night the wondrous glory of the everlasting stars.

I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy
Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,
And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city
Through the open window floating, spreads its foulness over all.

And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle
Of the tramways and the buses making hurry down the street,
And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,
Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.

And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me
As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,
With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,
For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.

And I somehow fancy that I’d like to change with Clancy,
Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,
While he faced the round eternal of the cashbook and the journal –
But I doubt he’d suit the office, Clancy, of “The Overflow”.

 

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